


The Mating Game

by Ladytalon



Category: Stargate: SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-16
Updated: 2009-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 00:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladytalon/pseuds/Ladytalon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relationships can start in the strangest places...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love In An Elevator

**Series:** The Mating Game  
**Title:** Love In An Elevator  
**Author:** [](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladytalon1**](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/)  
**Fandom:** Stargate: SG-1  
**Pairing/Characters:** Baal/Sam, SG-1  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not making any $$  
**Summary:** AU: Relationships can start in the strangest places...  
**Word Count:** 2,792  
**A/N:** For the [](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/profile)[**10_dates**](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/) prompt: _First_.

  


_   
****The Mating Game 1/10:** Love In An Elevator**   
_

[  
____spacer____](http://s74.photobucket.com/albums/i241/Ladytalon1/?action=view&current=Baam_matinggame.png)

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___

  
Samantha Carter can easily think up several definitions of the word 'fun.'

Being trapped in a service elevator with a System Lord isn't one of them.

"This is ridiculous," he reminds her, as if she hasn't heard him the first ten times he's said so. "I didn't agree to this to be stuck in this…conveyance." She can clearly hear the unspoken addition of "_with **you**_."

He continues to list exactly what's wrong with their situation until Sam's tempted to turn around and strangle him with his own tie. "I guess it's too bad you can't beam yourself out of here," she says regretfully. At least that way she could have some peace and quiet while waiting for the power to come back on… as it is, she's seriously contemplating adding Bill Lee's corpse next to Baal's – he should have learned by now that it was never a good idea to interface any new technology with the main generator.

Baal shoots her a withering look. "If it hadn't been made impossible, I assure you that I would have left long ago."

Sam closes her eyes briefly and prays for patience before going back to trying to open the control panel of the elevator. "How about giving me a hand?"

"Why would I want to do something like that?" He sounds genuinely puzzled.

_Oh, for the love of_… "Do you want to get out of here, or not?" she snaps.

Baal raises his eyebrows at her, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back against the wall lazily. "Really, Colonel. You honestly expect help from me?"

Point taken. "Never mind." She fiddles with the panel a few minutes more before realizing that since the power took a hit thanks to Dr. Lee, so did the air-conditioning. Crap. Stopping herself from glancing over her shoulder at Baal, Sam begins to undo the top five buttons of her BDUs.

"You haven't fixed it yet," Baal reminds her unnecessarily.

"Neither have you, Genius." She could swear that he's moved closer to her and tries to ignore him until she realizes that, just like last time, she'll have to ask him for help. "I need something sharp to pry this open – do you have a knife?"

She's favored with an especially condescending look. "You do realize that I was searched for a weapon in addition to being subjected to a full-body scan."

Sam suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. "That doesn't mean you don't have something on you."

"Ah, but if I was found with a weapon of some sort that would make our little arrangement null and void, now wouldn't it?" He pulls a paperclip from his pocket and offers it to her. "There you are."

"Nice try. Unless you want to spend the rest of your life in this elevator with me, _hand it over_."

Baal sighs in annoyance and begins to reach into his suit jacket before stopping to stare at her. "I'm not going to give you anything if you keep watching – a gentleman needs to keep some secrets."

"Since when has _anyone_ considered you a gentleman?"

He smirks at that. "Touché."

A few seconds later, Sam's starting to feel sorry that she asked. "How…where did you manage to _hide_ all of that?" she blurts, pointing to the ever-increasing pile of weapons. She counts three daggers, two garrotes, six vials of what she assumes to be poison, a handful of small explosive devices, and a hara'kesh.

Baal unloads what seems to be the last of his stash, a za'tarc weapon. "Choose what you'd like to finish your fool's errand with, but don't assume that you'll get to keep any of this."

"You weren't even supposed to bring it to begin with," she's obligated to point out. "What exactly do you need _two_ garrotes for?"

"I'm told Tau'ri frequently have twins," he informs her dryly.

Sam turns the beginning of her startled laugh into a coughing fit and picks up the nearest dagger, trying to wedge it into the control panel. The tip breaks and Baal looses a flanged rumble of irritation. "Sorry." _Even if you deserve it if you carry something this poorly made around with you_. She reaches for another knife and attempts to distract him from its impending destruction. "So what made you decide to wear the suit today? Pandering, huh?" Okay, that hadn't really come out like she'd intended…

The knife is plucked from her hand before she can blink. "Use something else," Baal orders, nudging the za'tarc ring with the toe of his dress shoe. "Pressing on this twice will assure that you will no longer be concerned with opening that particular panel."

"You should consider a career in standup," Sam advises him, "because you're hilarious."

"Can't blame me for trying," he sighs, lounging against the rear wall of the elevator to watch her.

A trickle of sweat makes its way down her forehead and Sam brushes it away irritably – she can just imagine what Baal will say about her perspiration – before deciding to remove her shirt completely. She's wearing a tank top beneath the heavy long-sleeved uniform shirt, so it's not like she'll be getting naked in front of him.

Okay, now she's sure he's just moved closer… Sam glances back at him to find his eyes locked onto her cleavage. _Oh, you have **got** to be kidding me! _ She opens her mouth to tell him off and Baal finally shifts his eyes back up to her face with a smirk. "Yes?"

"Are you going to help me, or not?"

"Or not."

"Try again. You're not going to get away with staring at me while I do all the work."

Baal's expression reverts to its default setting of condescension. "I came here to propose a deal, not to tinker with your…quaint…machinery. The minimal level of technology on this planet amuses me." He makes no mention of the fact that she's caught him ogling, which is typical even if she finds it exceedingly strange. Baal has never given the slightest indication of interest before, except when…when…

Oh, she's got him now. "How well do you think the IOA would take it if they found out that you were one of the clones who killed a handful of SF's and took those Gate addresses?"

The corners of his lips twitch. "There is no way to distinguish one from another."

"I think there is," Sam challenges, "and you were Number Two." She's never been able to erase the memory of how close Two had come to her, hot eyed and leaning in to murmur threats in her ear while he hustled her into the small storage room. This Baal is the same one, she's sure of it.

He looks at her, that small smile still in place. "Would you prefer that I was?"

Sam hides her confusion by bending to pluck the hara'kesh from the floor; the question is either designed to mock her, or Baal is actually flirting with her. But that surely can't be the case. "I'd _prefer_ that you help me get this panel open so I don't have to spend the rest of my life stuck in here with you."

"Perhaps I'd prefer that you remain here."

_Oh my god. He **is** flirting with me_. "What?"

"After all, you can't thwart my megalomaniacal plans from within an elevator," Baal temporizes, but sinks to a crouch beside her and slides the confiscated knife blade into the crack between the panel and wall. "Set the other at an angle," he instructs, passing her the remaining knife. "And try not to break it."

_I'd rather break your nose again, you stuck-up_… As if Baal can hear her, he smiles and Sam thinks that no one has the right to be that good looking. "Is this good enough for you?"

"Not quite." Baal covers her hand with his to shift the knife slightly. "This is better." He keeps his hand on hers and she fixes him with a stare that's intimidated more than a few men in its time. Unfortunately, this doesn't deter him the slightest bit. "You seem uncomfortable, Colonel," he purrs. "Is anything the matter?"

His face, when he turns his head to look at her, is less than three inches away from Sam's. The last time she's been this close to him was in that storage room. Baal's eyes are a rich, warm brown with a touch of gold around the irises that she's never noticed before. Maybe it's an after-effect of all the naquidah in his blood. She looks into his eyes, fascinated, before finally realizing that she's staring. "I'm just waiting for you to get the panel open," Sam lies.

Baal tilts his head to one side, eyes still locked onto hers. "It's been off for the past two minutes."

_Shit_. Sam yanks her arm back so fast, the blade cuts into his palm when his hand slips down onto it. "Shit," she says aloud this time, eyes wide as Baal calmly rotates his hand palm-up to study the wound. "We need to get something to stop the bleeding."

Leaning forward, she begins to unknot his tie. "Colonel," Baal starts.

Sam cuts him off. "Yes I know it's expensive, but I could have severed a tendon." The tie slithers off into her hands and she wraps it around the wound. The yellow silk wicks up the blood and, glancing up, Sam finds that she's once again the object of intense scrutiny. It occurs to her that she's most likely in three world's worth of trouble for drawing first blood – she'll have to ask Teal'c about that if it doesn't come down to a knock-down drag-out in only 5 by 8 feet of space. Squelching the impulse to apologize (even though she really _hadn't_ meant to cut his hand) she lifts her chin slightly. "If you hadn't been clinging to me, that wouldn't have happened."

Baal extracts his hand from her grasp and begins unwinding his ruined tie. "Is that how Tau'ri make an apology?"

"You shouldn't take that off until-" Sam bites back the rest of her sentence as he displays his palm to her.

The flesh knits itself together even as she watches, until not even the thinnest line gives evidence that the cut was ever there in the first place. "It's not like you to forget what I am," he _tsk_s. A momentary burst of amber light spreads from his pupils to the whites of his eyes before the glow fades altogether. In an instant Baal's expression segues from reproving amusement to pure, interested male. "Perhaps you were busy thinking of something else."

Sam's eyes take the opportunity to drop to his collarbone, which has been plainly visible ever since she rearranged Baal's shirt collar in her fumble for his tie. "Probably how to finish getting the door open now that the pants are off. _Panel_. Now that the _panel_ is off."

"I'm sure that could be arranged," he returns smoothly.

"What?"

"The panel. It's braced into the wall." Baal's lips twitch. "Whatever did you think I meant, Colonel?"

Sam mutters beneath her breath.

"I'm sorry? I didn't quite catch that."

"I said, sit back and wait for me to open the door," she snaps.

He settles on his heels to watch expectantly, and equilibrium returns as Sam gets to work carefully stripping the wires and attempting to override the controls. When the SGC had been created below Norad, fail-safes had been created to guard against any unauthorized travel between levels: nice to have if an army of Jaffa are sent to overrun Cheyenne Mountain, but extremely inconvenient in the case of a power outage because the system automatically resets. Unless someone from outside the elevator slides an authorized card to open the doors, they stay shut.

Concentrating on the task at hand should take her mind off of the alarming realization that she actually finds Baal attractive, but it doesn't. She's never thought to see the day a Goa'uld System Lord would need a butter knife for slathering on the sexual innuendo during a conversation with her, but here she is.

Sam's nearly done with the override – just a few more wires to go and she can send Baal on his merry way – when the elevator shudders into movement and continues climbing the last two levels. She turns to find that, along with the rest of the scattered weapons, the blood-soaked tie has disappeared somewhere on Baal's person. Or maybe she should just use the word, host. What is she supposed to call it?

He finishes wiping the last traces of blood from between his fingers and quirks an eyebrow at her challengingly as the elevator stops and the doors begin to slide open. Sam turns away from him, a flash of movement from the corner of her eye showing him smoothing his hair. "Am I glad to see you," she sighs as the doors open to reveal Daniel and Cam.

"Dr. Lee was all but asking us to put him into the witness protection program," Cam laughs. "I think he's ready to…" he trails off, and Sam twists around to see what he and Daniel are staring at.

_Oh, you've got to be kidding me_. Instead of smoothing his hair as Sam had thought he had, Baal had done the exact opposite. With his shirt still unbuttoned with lapels askew, his hair rumpled and a very, very self-satisfied smirk on his face, there was only one conclusion her teammates were going to draw from her time spent with Baal in the elevator.

"Not a moment too soon," Baal says silkily, moving forward. "I appreciate the company, Samantha." Before she can react, he has her hand in his own and brushes his lips across her knuckles. "You were most…accommodating."

Her mouth falls open in astonishment as Baal smiles at her and turns to stride past the other two men. They immediately start following, and Sam is left staring down at the back of her hand where she can still feel the warm exhalation of his breath on her skin.

The meeting seems oddly anticlimactic when SG-1 gathers around the big conference table with General Landry and Richard Woolsey, livened only by the sudden, outraged appearance and subsequent removal of Malcolm Barrett.

Baal is more polite and cooperative than she's ever seen him – that anyone has ever seen him – and they finally reach a tentative agreement to accept his inside information on the doings and whereabouts of the original Baal in exchange for letting this one keep his stock holdings and residences on Earth. A minor sticking point is the condition that Baal surrenders his D.C. penthouse, which is far too close to Pennsylvania Avenue for anyone's peace of mind, in favor of a residence in Colorado Springs.

Shaking her head in an effort to rid herself of the image of Baal moving in next to General O'Neill just to piss him off, Sam looks back over the table to find him watching her. Again. Glancing to her right to avoid his gaze only serves to remind her that her friends are all too curious about what had happened in the elevator; even Teal'c looks as if he knows something she doesn't and Vala…well, Vala is practically bouncing up and down in her chair about the whole thing.

When Baal finally leaves after firing a concluding barrage of suggestive comments and knowing looks across the table, Sam doesn't stick around to watch the Gate being dialed. She has a group of deathly curious friends to avoid, and not a lot of time in which to avoid them. She's stepping out of the elevator to the parking level and thinking she's made it when Vala rounds the corner in front of her. "When were you going to tell me?"

Shit! "I'm late for something," she protests lamely.

"Well, you'll just have to make time to tell me all about this," Vala argues, falling into step beside her. "I'd thought he was interested in you before, but now there's proof! Of course, you could do a lot worse… I mean, he looks _fantastic_ naked-"

"What?! How would you – never mind," Sam sighs, shaking her head. "Look, nothing happened and nothing is _going_ to happen."

Vala waves a hand in dismissal. "Please, I think I know carnal attraction when I see it. I also think we need to plan your second date a little better than the first – the whole 'stuck in an elevator' bit is so overused…" Sam listens, bemused, as her friend prattles on about restaurants and tries _not_ to listen when she hears something about padded handcuffs.

She's almost to the safety of her car when Teal'c, Cam, and Daniel appear.

  


_tbc_

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	2. I Can't Believe That You're in Lunch with Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: Relationships can start in the strangest places...

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[baal](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal), [baal/sam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal/sam), [baam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baam), [fic](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [sam carter](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/sam%20carter), [stargate:sg1](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/stargate:sg1), [the mating game](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/the%20mating%20game)  
  
  
---|---  
  
**Series:** The Mating Game  
**Title:** I Can't Believe That You're in Lunch with Me  
**Author:** [](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladytalon1**](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/)  
**Fandom:** Stargate: SG-1  
**Pairing/Characters:** Baal/Sam, SG-1  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not making any $$  
**Summary:** AU: Relationships can start in the strangest places...  
**Word Count:** 1,805  
**A/N:** For the [](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/profile)[**10_dates**](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/) prompt: _Gift_.

  


_   
****The Mating Game 2/10:** I Can't Believe That You're in Lunch with Me**   
_

[  
____spacer____](http://s74.photobucket.com/albums/i241/Ladytalon1/?action=view&current=Baam_matinggame.png)

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It's taken her at least a week to stop the incessant questions about what she was doing in the elevator with Baal, but it takes less than thirty seconds in the Goa'uld's presence to make them spring up again.

"Hello again, Samantha," he greets, all the while looking her over so thoroughly that she feels like she's been burned to CD by the time he's done.

Lifting her chin, Sam gives him a meaningful glare. "Don't call me that."

The meaning does a fly-by. "Hello again, _Sam_."

"What are you doing here?"

"And what a delight it is to see you too." Baal gives her what he undoubtedly assumes to be his most charming smile, and Sam pretends that her stomach hasn't just done a somersault because of it. "While I realize you're breathlessly awaiting a request to accompany me to Bed Bath &amp; Beyond, I'm afraid that's not the case."

"I may never get over the disappointment," she reassures him.

Baal's reply is cut off with the appearance of Vala, Cam, and Teal'c. "Hey, Sam! We could use a fourth as soon as you're finished with the last of the Doublemint Twins," Cam says, tapping his fingers on the basketball tucked beneath his arm.

Sam reminds him about the samples from P8X-2656 that she's promised to help Doctor Lee with, trying to keep from glancing over at Baal who seems a little too interested in listening. "Why don't you ask Daniel?"

"He is at the dentist," Teal'c replies, keeping his eyes on the Goa'uld. "And the isolation rooms are not in this area."

Vala elbows the big Jaffa, grinning. "No, but _Sam_ is."

Oh, this is _not_ helping. "Vala…"

Her friend tips her an extremely obvious wink. "Right. We'll just be going now, so that you two lovebirds can hammer out the details of your next date. And when I say _hammer_, I mean-"

Cam interrupts by waving his hands in a wild 'time out' gesture. "Thank you, Vala, for giving us all the mental imagery of a lifetime." He glares over at Baal, who looks as smug as ever. "Shouldn't you be somewhere _else? _"

Baal just raises an eyebrow. "Not really, no."

Mercifully, they're interrupted by the arrival of an extremely nervous and uncomfortable Richard Woolsey. "There you are, Mister….ah," he blurts, fussing with the lapels of his blazer. "If you'll just come with me."

Bending one last look of amusement Sam's way, Baal dismisses the other members of SG-1 with a sniff as he turns towards the shorter man who doesn't look in any particular hurry to get going. "Shall we?" he asks pointedly, gesturing down the hall.

"Yes, yes of course."

The two walk away, Baal's question floating back to them. "Tell me, Mister Woolsey…do you make a habit of wearing a gun?"

"You know? I believe those two are going to be very good friends," Vala laughs. "Come on boys, I have a basketball game to win."

Teal'c _hmph_s noncommittally. "We shall see on both counts, Vala Mal Doran."

Cam shakes his head. "Never thought I'd see the day when we'd actually let Baal back in here after he conned us into giving him those addresses… if you get bored stuck in that lab with Lee, we'll be around."

She raises her chin in acknowledgement. "Have fun."

"You too," Vala teases, winking at her again.

Firmly putting all thoughts of Baal out of her mind, Sam loses herself in cataloguing the items brought back by SG-13 and isn't listening when Bill Lee tells her that he's leaving for lunch. "Hand me the forceps, will you?" she asks without looking up. The thin metal implement is nudged over to her and Sam picks them up absently, her eyes still locked onto the tiny device in front of her. "Thanks."

She works for another half-hour, occasionally asking for tools that are immediately pushed to her, before hunger pangs finally make her sit up. Sam nearly falls off her stool in surprise when she sees who's been 'helping' her: Baal is sitting across the table watching her with his chin propped up on a fist. "How long have you been sitting there?" she demands.

He takes time to sit up and stretch before answering, rolling his shoulders and arching his back in a slow, sensual way that reminds her of a jungle cat. "I didn't mind waiting," Baal answers, as if she'd just apologized for taking so long.

"Well, _I_ mind being watched."

Baal's lips curve slightly as he lifts a hand to rub at his goatee. "Samantha, please. I could have detonated a naquidah bomb and you wouldn't have noticed."

Sam makes no effort to keep her eyes from rolling skyward. "If you'd detonated a naquidah bomb, I wouldn't have noticed because I would have been _dead_."

"There is that," he agrees cheerfully.

"What do you want?"

"At the moment, lunch. After lunch…perhaps dessert," Baal says with a straight face.

"I think it's my turn to say, 'oh please.'"

His expression is pure twelve year-old boy. "I would never make you beg."

Well, she walked into _that_ one. "You're a laugh a minute, Baal. I don't have lunch with evil overlords."

He narrows his eyes slightly. "But you want to."

"Not really. I'm not hungry," she lies.

"Ah, but that's not the truth now, is it? Tau'ri digestive systems are incredibly loud, Samantha." Baal cocks his head as her stomach rumbles as if on cue. "I rest my case."

_Go rest your case somewhere **else**_. "I know what you're doing," Sam tells him. "You've done it time and again, and it's not going to work." Every time they've dealt with him it's been plain he's only been in it for himself– there's something he wants from her, and she doubts it stops with getting her into bed. He probably thinks he can charm her into revealing something about the Ancient weapons platform in Antarctica.

Baal slides from his chair, the movement distracting her from the remarkably vivid (and not entirely unwelcome) image of him stretched out amongst the sheets of her bed. "I haven't done a thing." He pauses, smiling slowly. "Yet."

He moves around the laboratory's big table, and Sam curls her fingers around a nearby screwdriver just in case she needs a weapon. "What do you want?"

"Samantha, Samantha, Sa_man_tha." Baal invades her space by placing one hand on the wide back of her stool. The other hand comes down on hers, trapping the screwdriver against the tabletop. "I want what any other man wants." He leans in as if he's about to kiss her, and she moistens her lips with her tongue out of pure reflex. Baal's intense gaze flicks down to her mouth, than back up to her eyes. "Lasagna."

Sam's lips, on the verge of pursing, part in confused surprise. "What?"

"Lasagna," he repeats. "Even evil overlords need to eat sometime."

"You're impossible," she sighs, placing her free hand on his chest and pushing.

When they're sitting across from each other in the mess hall, it occurs to her that she's never actually seen him eat before. Sam watches Baal pretend the food isn't as awful as it really is, the way he balances the fork between his fingers, how he takes care not to speak with his mouth full when she asks him a question. Just the fact that she's making small talk with a Goa'uld makes her smile, and he raises his eyebrows questioningly. "Is something amusing?"

Sam leans across the table slightly. "Do you really think that's any good?"

"It's the worst thing I've ever eaten," Baal admits.

They share a smile, and Sam's stomach is back to doing somersaults. It's probably just indigestion. She coughs and reaches for her water. "So I take it you didn't do anything bad to Woolsey."

"Though the temptation was indeed present, I managed to restrain from bloodshed," Baal says, eyeing the remains of his lunch as if it might get up and move. "I must remember to thank your General Landry for a timely interruption."

She made a mental note to ask the general all about it. "Your fortitude is an inspiration to us all."

"I look forward to inspiring you more with my fortitude," Baal says slyly, signaling that the time for polite conversation was most certainly over with. Fantastic.

"You must be the master of the single entendre. I've got work to do." Sam starts to stand up, and sighs as Baal catches her arm to draw her back down. "Baal, I'm not in the mood for your games."

He reaches into his suit jacket to pull out a small box, nudging it across the table with his fingers. "This is for you."

Sam looks at it suspiciously. "Is it going to explode?"

"Do you really think I'd sit with you over the most horrific meal I've ever had to endure, only to give you something that exploded in your face?"

_Are you kidding me? _ "Of course I do!"

"I'll just take it back, then." Baal reaches for the box, and she slides it out of reach.

He laughs when she leans back in her seat and pushes the lid off with the tines of her fork, but she's too busy peering at the tiny device inside to care. "What is it?" Sam asks curiously.

"Hold it in your palm," Baal instructs and as soon as she does so, a holographic projection appears just above her cupped hand. "See anything you like?"

"It's…wow," she says softly, staring. "You _made_ this for me?" Sam has to give him credit; he certainly knows how to woo a girl.

Baal leans back in his chair to enjoy her reaction to his gift. "I thought you might like it."

Sam tears her eyes away from the holograph long enough to look across the table at him. "I do."

"If I were to ask you to dinner next week, would you say yes?"

Well, it's not entirely surprising that he's trading heavily on her gratitude towards him and Sam knows that she should turn him down, but… "Yes." When his eyes fill with a surety he hasn't and might never earn, she qualifies her answer. "Dinner only."

Baal sighs in exasperation. "The plans are encrypted," he tries.

"With an escort," she adds firmly. Baal opens his mouth to protest then appears to think better of it, but there's a gleam in his eye that she doesn't quite trust. _Who am I kidding? I don't trust_ anything _about him_.

"Dinner only, with an escort," he concedes. Looking determined, Baal bids her farewell and leaves, followed closely by four SFs.

She turns her attention back to the holographic model of a Harley Davidson engine retrofitted with a naquidah generator and sighs happily. She could get used to presents like these.

_tbc_

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[Table](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/355373.html#cutid1)   



	3. Dinner For Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. After being reminded about a very important fact, Sam attempts a conversation with their unlikely (but glaringly obvious) 'third wheel'

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[baal](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal), [baal/sam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal/sam), [baam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baam), [fic](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [sam carter](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/sam%20carter), [stargate:sg1](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/stargate:sg1), [the mating game](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/the%20mating%20game)  
  
  
---|---  
  
**Series:** The Mating Game  
**Title:** Dinner For Three  
**Author:** [](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladytalon1**](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/)  
**Fandom:** Stargate: SG-1  
**Pairing/Characters:** Baal/Sam  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not making any $$  
**Summary:** AU. After being reminded about a very important fact, Sam attempts a conversation with their unlikely (but glaringly obvious) 'third wheel'  
**Word Count:** 2,384  
**A/N:** For the [](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/profile)[**10_dates**](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/) prompt: _School_.

  


_   
****The Mating Game 3/10:** Dinner For Three**   
_

[  
____spacer____](http://s74.photobucket.com/albums/i241/Ladytalon1/?action=view&current=Baam_matinggame.png)

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After Sam reschedules three times just because she knows how irritating it is for Baal to be put off by a lowly human female, the date of their dinner is finally set. She's thinking about calling it off a fourth time just because she can, but decides to go through with it – at least this way she can say that she's been out on a date with a Goa'uld if the subject ever comes up during a boasting match. Not that _those_ happen very often, but it's better to be prepared for any eventuality.

Baal is probably fully aware of where she lives, but she's asked him to pick her up at Daniel's place so he doesn't try to manipulate her into letting him inside. Besides, this won't actually be a _date_ – Sam prefers to think of it as an opportunity to find out what he's really up to and if Baal tries to get to any bases that aren't Cheyenne Mountain…well, that's what her tazer is for.

"So you're really going through with it?" Daniel asks, glancing up from his book. Vala settles cross-legged on the couch and abandons her copy of Cosmopolitan in order to listen.

"Yeah, looks like it." Sam stops pacing in front of the windows and turns to face her friend. "You haven't said much about this."

He smiles and shakes his head slightly, the movement causing the lamplight to reflect off the lenses of his glasses. "No, I guess I haven't…Cam has been doing most of the talking for me, I suppose."

"So you agree with him that this is a mistake?" Sam asks curiously.

"I didn't say that," Daniel muses. "Am I worried? A little, but I know you can take care of yourself. I'd just like you to be careful, that's all."

Sam glances out of the window, where she can see a black Towncar pulling up outside; she'd half-expected him to just beam her into the restaurant, so this is a surprise. "You'd better believe I will…look, I'd better get going."

"Have a marvelous time," Vala grins, tossing her magazine down to head to the kitchen. "I expect to hear all about it in the morning!"

She's on her way out the door when Daniel stops her. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

Her friend takes his glasses off, ducking his head as he cleans them on the hem of his shirt. "You… you might try to find out where the host fits into all of this," he says quietly.

The reminder about Sha're makes the half-smile at Vala's teasing slide right off her face. "Yeah."

Outside Sam passes a handful of soldiers she's seen around the SGC and nods in acknowledgement as they glance over at her casually. The Towncar's driver is waiting to open the door for her and Sam shifts her grip on her purse (the better to grab her tazer with) before she ducks inside. "Let me guess; the ha'tak is in the shop?"

Baal looks over at her, eyebrows arching slightly. "Is that what you expected?"

"With you, I can never tell," Sam tells him. She _had_ been wondering how it was going to play out, and half-expected him to just beam her out of Daniel's apartment or something equally as flamboyant and unnecessary.

He seems pleased by her admission and settles back in the seat as the driver guides the car through the late afternoon traffic. "I certainly hope all the members of your escort have reservations," he says thoughtfully.

"I wasn't aware that Captain D's _took_ reservations," she answers sweetly.

Baal tilts his head, smiling. "I'm told that they're under new management."

"What are you after?" Sam asks bluntly. "And don't say, 'dinner.'"

"Is it truly so hard to believe that I asked you to dinner because I happen to be sincerely attracted to you?" he counters.

"Yes."

Baal smiles faintly, turning his attention to the window as he ignores the question yet again. "Nearly there, now."

Nearly _where?_ She's been aware of the car traveling out of the city but as Sam takes stock of their surroundings, she suddenly realizes their destination. "You're taking me to Briarhurst, aren't you?"

"I hope that's not a problem."

Making a mental note to remind him that she's under no obligation to 'pay' for dinner in currency other than cash, Sam looks over at him. Her eyes meet Baal's, and she realizes that he knows exactly what she's thinking – indeed, he looks like he's waiting for her to say something about it. "There's no problem."

"Glad to hear it," he says smoothly.

Sam forces herself not to gawk as the driver pulls up to Briarhurst Manor, but she does get to sneak a few awed peeks when her door is opened first. The place looks like something out of a fairy tale, with the arched entryway and the carefully maintained garden surrounding the huge manor house. She's wanted to come here for years, but somehow never quite made it for one reason or another.

Baal dismisses their chauffeur with a low-voiced command and moves to her side, raising his arm slightly. "Shall we?"

Sam slides her hand into the crook of Baal's arm and walks inside with him, wondering where her babysitters are. They're given a tour of the manor by an elderly woman who tells them the history of Manitou Springs, and the story of how the estate was founded in 1876. "I must say, you two make a striking couple," the woman says, beaming at them.

Oh, great. "We're not-"

Baal interrupts by slipping his arm around her. "Thank you very much."

"If you'll just follow me, I've arranged a table for you in the library…" the woman gives them another smile and turns to walk back down the staircase – Sam shrugs off Baal's arm and thinks hard about the contents of her purse.

The other tables have been cleared since they'd first walked through on the tour, and a fire has been laid to create an atmosphere that's entirely too romantic for Sam's peace of mind. Baal is back in full 'Gentleman Mode' and pulls her chair out for her. Sam's feeling of unease lifts as the wait staff enters and she recognizes all of them as the guards she'd requested. They take up stations around the room as if they're truly Briarhurst employees, and Sam finally begins to relax.

Baal quirks an eyebrow, but declines to comment on the nine heavily-built 'waiters' beyond a snide, "Make sure they don't drop anything."

He sits down on the opposite side of the table, leaning back in his chair as he studies her intently. Sam raises her chin at the scrutiny. "Where's the menu?"

"With the rest of them, I imagine."

Sam smiles across at him. "If you try to order for me, I will do something painful to you."

Baal smiles back and raises a hand, snapping his fingers expectantly. The nearest SF blinks in surprised resentment before leaving the room and reappearing with two menus. "Haven't you forgotten something?" Baal asks mildly, tapping a fingertip against an empty champagne flute. The wine list is deposited on the table by the visibly angry SF and Baal examines his nails when the other man resumes his post by the mantelpiece. "It's so hard to find good...help…these days, wouldn't you agree?"

"I don't think I've ever met anyone with your knack for making enemies," Sam tells him. "Do Goa'uld go to charm school for that, or are you just special?"

"I would venture to say that I was unique, but as there seems to be evidence to the contrary…"

Another waiter, presumably the 'real' one, enters with flustered look on his face. "I apologize, I was told that your table was upstairs. I hope you weren't waiting long." He frowns at the other 'waiters' before asking them what they'd like to drink and while Sam makes his eyes widen in amazement by ordering a Corona, he's mollified by Baal's request for one of the more obscure wines.

Halfway through the Châteaubriand and another strangely polite conversation, she places her fork on the edge of her plate and decides to ask him the question she's been thinking of all night. "So which one of you wanted the Italian Terrine?"

He begins to lower his glass. "Excuse me?"

She waits until his wineglass is safely back on the table. "It's no secret that the Goa'uld need human hosts to interact with us."

"And?"

"And I'd like to talk to yours."

Baal's eyelids flicker. "No."

"Then I think this date is over," Sam replies with a smile, tossing her napkin onto the table and pushing her chair back.

"I can tell you anything you'd like to know," Baal counters, sliding his plate to one side and propping his chin on a fist.

Sam pretends to consider the offer, then shakes her head. "Not good enough."

Baal's hand pins hers to the table when she reaches for her purse. "Fine. Ask, and the host will answer."

"Okay," Sam agrees, suspecting that he'll try to pull one of his usual stunts. His eyes brighten to confirm her suspicion, and she smiles to herself as she thinks of a question. "How old are you?"

He blinks, then quickly answers using the host's 'normal' voice. "Three."

Slamming the palms of her hands down on the table, Sam pushes to her feet. "If you don't think I can tell which of you is speaking, I guess that proves the theory about generational data loss happening in clones. We're done here." Baal's lips thin as she hints at revoking his already tenuous status, and Sam can see his temper rising as she's reminding him about the underground cells at Area 51.

It seems oddly out of character for Baal to become angry at the threats she's slinging around, so she keeps pushing. All of the clones have had slightly different personalities, so Sam figures that this one was created with a shorter fuse than the others. _And that's something I can work with_.

He's openly furious by the time she begins to describe various symbiote extraction techniques, so it's a bit of a surprise to suddenly see his eyes lose focus momentarily before he quite literally _falls_ out of his chair.

The SFs tense but Sam shakes her head no at them, trying to concentrate on the man currently scrambling to his feet with a bewildered look on his face. Confident that Baal would never let himself be humiliated by falling onto the floor, she stretches out a steadying hand. "Easy…it's all right, you're safe." His wide brown eyes still have a slightly dazed expression in them, and Sam gives him a reassuring smile. "Do you know where you are?"

Baal's host opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. "I…I…no," he admits. "Not, not really."

Sam moves her chair over near his after she gets him sitting down, placing her hand on his knee. "Do you remember anything that's happened?"

He bows his head to hide his face from her, hesitantly touching her hand with his fingers. "It's hard _not_ to remember."

Of all things she's come prepared for, actually feeling sorry for Baal isn't one of them. Except… this isn't Baal. Sam takes both of his hands in hers, unconsciously rubbing her thumbs over his knuckles. "What's your name?"

His head jerks back up. "Name?" A strange expression crosses his face, and Sam changes her line of approach just to see if this really _is_ Baal's host or if the Goa'uld is simply trying to pull the wool over her eyes yet again.

"You're probably still pretty confused about actually having control over your own body," Sam comments. When he relaxes, opening his mouth to respond, she interrupts quickly. "How old are you?"

"I don't know anymore," he says wearily. "I stopped counting a long time ago."

His words hold the ring of truth, and Sam squeezes his hands sympathetically as she tells him of her own (brief) experience as host to a symbiote. It's nowhere near the same thing, but it seems to help him grow more comfortable. He can't tell her why Baal seems to be cultivating her, but then again he can't even tell her his real name because it's been so long since he's been able to use it.

Sam begins to tell him of the extraction process. "We have a procedure…"

"Your time is _up_, Colonel," Baal says, and it's recognizably him this time – glowing eyes, flanged voice and all. She immediately jerks her hands out of reach, and he laughs as guns are aimed at him from all around the room. "It wasn't very polite to offer to extract me."

"It wasn't polite to take him as your host to begin with."

Baal tilts his head to the side. "You would have no way of knowing, unless you were there."

"Oh, please," she scoffs. "You really expect me to believe that you _asked? _"

"You may believe what you choose," he says loftily. "Would you like dessert?"

She's beginning to regret not dumping his glass of wine on top of his head while she had the chance. "I think I'd like to leave now."

"Ah, but the night is young."

"And you most definitely aren't."

"Jokes concerning my antiquity do not further your quest for another date."

Sam glowers at him across the table as soon as she's back in her own chair and a safe distance from him. "Don't flatter yourself, you might sprain something."

"You seemed to have quite the connection to my host," Baal remarks casually, picking up his wine glass with two fingers and swirling the liquid around as if catastrophically bored, "So I will offer you another chance to interact with it."

"_Him_," Sam insists sharply.

He sniffs at the interruption, but doesn't deign to comment on her correction. "Three weeks from today. You may choose our destination," Baal says indulgently.

Oh, please. "I'll have to check my schedule-"

"It will be in three weeks, or you will never be allowed to speak to my host again." Baal's eyes are flat, his face expressionless. "I will not play your game, Samantha."

"But you expect me to play yours?"

He lifts his glass to her in tribute and simply says, "Yes."

_tbc_

________________________________________

_______

  
Yes, Briarhurst Manor is a real place - go [here](http://www.briarhurst.com/) to see what it looks like and what else is on the menu :)

[Table](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/355373.html#cutid1)   



	4. The Host With The Most

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Sam goes on a date with Baal's host

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[baal](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal), [baal/sam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal/sam), [baam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baam), [sam carter](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/sam%20carter), [stargate:sg1](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/stargate:sg1), [the mating game](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/the%20mating%20game)  
  
  
---|---  
  
**Series:** The Mating Game  
**Title:** The Host With The Most  
**Author:** [](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladytalon1**](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/)  
**Fandom:** Stargate: SG-1  
**Pairing/Characters:** Baal/Sam  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not making any $$  
**Summary:** AU. Sam goes on a date with Baal's host  
**Word Count:** 2,334  
**A/N:** For the [](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/profile)[**10_dates**](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/) prompt: _Feelings_.

  


_   
****The Mating Game 4/10:** The Host With The Most**   
_

[  
____spacer____](http://s74.photobucket.com/albums/i241/Ladytalon1/?action=view&current=Baam_matinggame.png)

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Three weeks later, they're at a Rockies game and Sam is explaining the rules of baseball to Baal's host. He still hasn't shared his name with her, so she's simply started thinking of him as 'Bill' – it's close enough to the symbiote's name even though it doesn't _quite_ fit him, but it's a little better than a generic 'Steve' or 'Todd.' They're getting quite a few looks from the other fans as a result of Baal/Bill's elegantly tailored suit, and Sam makes a mental note to take him shopping for more casual clothes after the game is over.

"And everyone in America enjoys watching men hit a ball with a stick before running in a geometric pattern?" Bill asks skeptically, leaning forward to watch the Rockies Left-fielder run to catch the ball and throw it towards third base. "There's more action than in golf, but I don't really see the appeal of either."

Sam takes a sip of her beer and leans back, keeping an eye on the man by her side. If Baal decides to surface when she's least expecting it, there are an awful lot of innocent bystanders who could get hurt. Not that she really expects him to try anything with so many people around, but it can't hurt to be careful. "Well, it's considered our national pastime, but not everyone likes to sit and watch it. Playing is more fun, but going to an actual baseball game like this one is more for the experience of being here in the first place. The atmosphere," Sam explains.

Out of habit, she glances around to spot today's military escort – they're scattered throughout the bleachers, with one or two near their own box. Sam turns back to find Bill watching her. "He won't do anything."

"You sound pretty sure about that."

He shrugs, picking up his own beer and sniffing at it before taking a drink. "After being with someone so long, you tend to know how they will act in certain situations." He smiles at her suddenly. "It's nice to be able to speak with you like this."

Sam raises her eyes to meet those of Baal's host – she finds it easier to interact with him now that he has an unofficial name; he deserves to have one separate from Baal –and wonders how it is that he seems much more self-assured than when she'd first talked to him. "Does he let you have control often?" she asks curiously.

Bill lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. "It's… it's hard to say." Sam opens her mouth to pursue this particular line of questioning, and he leans over to touch her arm. "I'm sorry if it makes things awkward, but I don't like to talk about it that much. Dwelling on what happened won't change it," he says softly, his eyes locking with hers. "I feel as if I could tell you everything, in time… you seem a kind, patient woman, Samantha."

She feels her cheeks heating slightly at the praise coupled with his intense scrutiny, acutely aware of aftershave mingling with the warm scent of his skin. "Oh, I don't know about that."

"I do," he says softly, thumb lightly stroking the inner curve of her elbow. "I'd much rather hear about you instead of talking about myself."

Putting her hand over his and intending to brush him off gently, she's a little startled when his fingers immediately twine with hers. Sam looks away to find one member of their escort eyeing her meaningfully. Shaking her head 'no' she turns back to her date. "Um, look…"

Bill immediately releases her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he says, looking so earnestly apologetic that she has to smile and say it's okay. "There's still so much to get used to, I suppose learning the rules of physical contact is just something else to add to the list," he says sheepishly.

She's never thought she'd see the day when Baal would wear any expression other than superciliousness, and suppresses another smile at the look of embarrassment on his face. _Well, this is his **host** – but it's still pretty cute…just like the rest of him. Not that I've noticed_. "What else is on that list?"

He smiles at her again, his brown eyes alight with mischief. "Trying to pretend I like baseball."

"Well, not all our dates can be as fantastic as the first three," Sam laughs. He looks pleased, and she sighs inwardly at what she's just implied. "We can leave if you're not enjoying yourself."

Bill lifts his beer. "I didn't say I wasn't enjoying myself, just that I don't care for the game," he says carefully, looking at her over the rim of his cup. They stay until the seventh inning when Bill asks if she'll teach him how to play, so they walk down and around to the picnic area where he insists upon paying for a baseball and two catcher's mitts. "After all, since I was there when the money was made I technically helped 'earn' it," he says, tipping her a wink as he selects the most expensive items and picking out a gaudy 'scoreboard' style desk clock as a present for her just to make her laugh.

Sam is surprised at just how much fun she's having as they throw the baseball back and forth, talking and laughing as the game winds down behind them. They end up leaving before the last inning and go for lunch at a small café she always visits whenever she's in Denver.

It becomes harder and harder for her to remember that this isn't a real date, and that she's just here to find out what it is that he wants…. but then again, Bill's been avoiding most of what she's been asking. As charming as he is, she needs some answers.

She watches as he opens the menu to read it. "Where did you learn to speak English?"

"Pardon?" He looks up, puzzled.

"The English language. Where did you learn it?" Sam asks, folding her hands atop the table.

He glances at her and then away, out the window. "Why is it so important to you?"

"I know you don't really want to talk about it, but… you've got to give us something we can work with," Sam tells him.

"Work with?" Bill watches a group of people waiting at the stoplight cross the street. "I don't know how you could 'work' with anything I could tell you." Putting elbows on the table, he laces his fingers together and rests his chin on the backs of his hands as he looks at her.

Sam watches his pupils constrict as the sun comes out from behind the clouds, shining almost directly on his face through the window. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"

The waiter comes to take their order, and she takes the opportunity that presents itself when Bill asks for one of the meals from the vegetarian section of the menu. The last time she sat across the table from him in Briarhurst he hadn't eaten meat, either. "You don't eat meat?"

He shrugs as he takes a drink from his water glass. "If the, ah, _situation_ requires it."

The sudden, unsettling image of him eating another Goa'uld symbiote makes her wish she hadn't ordered the fish. Or that she hadn't asked Daniel exactly what had happened when he'd gone to the System Lord summit a few years back. "But otherwise…?"

"Otherwise, no. Not really." His resumes his previous position and the gold-flecked ring around his irises seem to glow from the reflected sunlight as he watches her.

"Why not?" Sam rephrases the question. "Is it just you?"

The corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement and Bill moves his head, rubbing his smile across his linked fingers. "Define 'you.'"

"Both of you."

"It's possible."

Sam leans across the table. "What does he want?"

His smile deepens. "He'd rather have the spinach quiche."

"You know what I mean," she sighs, exasperated. "You must really be paying attention when he's off annoying someone by being so evasive."

"You _could_ just ask him," Bill suggests mildly, raising his eyebrows at her.

"I've asked _both_ of you what he wants and haven't heard so much as a peep." Their food arrives, and Sam narrows her eyes at him as the waiter puts their plates down. "For someone taken against his will to be the host of a Goa'uld, you're not really acting like you want him extracted so that you can be free again," she says as soon as they're alone once more.

Bill laughs as he picks up his fork. "Is that what you think?"

"What?"

"This is very good, would you like some?" He uses his fork to gesture to his vegetable curry and looks at her expectantly.

Sam drums her fingers on the table. "You? Are driving me crazy."

"One does one's best," he grins at her. "Now, are you _sure_ you don't want to try…?"

"_No thanks_."

After lunch, he's more than a little startled when she announces that she's taking him shopping for street clothes. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Bill asks, brushing a hand down the front of his tie.

"Nothing. But if you're going to live here, you've got to learn to blend in a little better," she says, gesturing to her more casual outfit. "Besides, it'll be a chance for you to spend more of that money you helped make."

Sam drags him into several stores before settling on one that seems suitable. She's betting that Baal's host is just as much of a clotheshorse as the symbiote seems to be, and the goth style looks to be one he might like. "Okay, see anything you like?"

Bill scratches his chin, looking around at the displays. "You just brought me into a store that has whips hanging on the wall."

"Try as I might, I just can't see you finding something you want at Kmart." Sam picks up a pair of distressed black leather pants with buckles at the cuffs. "How about these?"

He looks at her as if she's gone insane. "There's no possible way I could blend in wearing those at a board meeting. _These_, however…" Bill lifts up another pair of leather pants, then frowns. "Wait, where's the rest of them?"

Sam laughs, countering with another pair with metal studs running down the sides. "This pair; this pair is _definitely_ you."

"Hardly," he sniffs, pointing at a display of Utilikilts. "I want one of those."

"Really?"

"Truly."

"Seriously?"

"Unquestionably."

"You guys need help finding anything?" one of the shop assistants asks, glaring in disapproval at their fits of laughter.

Bill tilts his head to one side, thinking about it. "Well, if you have any of those ass-less chaps in _her_ size, then-"

Sam stops laughing long enough to elbow him in the ribs. "Hey!"

They finally leave the store with a pair of motorcycle boots he likes, and stop in several more to pick out a few pairs of faded jeans and a selection of shirts. It's getting dark when they return to Colorado Springs, and Sam smiles as he laments that he didn't purchase a kilt. "Maybe I'll get you one for your birthday," she teases. "When is it, again?"

"See me next week, and I might tell you…again for the first time."

She glances in her rearview mirror at the large black SUV tailing them. "What makes you so sure that I even _want_ to see you again?"

"Samantha, please," he snorts. "Have you looked at me lately? I'm gorgeous."

"And so very modest," Sam laughs.

"That, too. But just think about it – I'm essentially what is known here on Earth as a 'Two for One.' You can't really beat that."

Sam shakes her head and pulls up in front of the PCS building. "Okay, I can't believe you just said that with a straight face." A group of four people seem to materialize around the car, and their Marine escort reacts to the threat by leaping from the SUV with guns drawn. "What's going on?"

He smiles and leans over. "A distraction."

She has to admit that, as far as distractions go, it's a pretty good one; the IOA won't hesitate to rake her over the coals if they find out that she's kissing someone that they consider to be a grave security risk. Sam _also_ has to admit that he's a pretty good kisser.

Drawing back from her, he glances out the windshield before turning back. His eyes flash as he smirks at her and the lingering feelings of euphoria from their kiss disappears instantly, leaving her cold. "Do I get one, too?" Baal asks.

He leans toward her and Sam shoves him away as one of the Marines yanks the door open. "Colonel Carter, is everything okay?"

Sam glares at Baal, who seems inordinately pleased by her reaction to his advances. "Everything's fine. He was just leaving."

The Marine stays standing by the door as Baal's 'assistants' retrieve his bags, and the Goa'uld reaches in one to withdraw the baseball his host purchased earlier in the day. "That 'game' was the most monotonous thing I've ever had to endure – did you truly _enjoy_ it?"

"Go away, Baal."

"Your scathing retort wounds me to the core," he assures her, placing a hand to his chest. "I might be bleeding."

"_Out_."

Baal clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "Now, Samantha. I thought we had a connection, something _special_."

Sam laments having left her sidearm at her house. "That wasn't you."

He cocks an eyebrow. "And how would you know?" Tossing the baseball at her, he slides out of the car. "As one of your charming human phrases says, it's in your section of the battlefield."

The Marine still guarding her leans down. "Want me to shoot him for you? They'll never find the body, Colonel."

Sam sighs. "So tempting. So, _so_ tempting."

_tbc_

________________________________________

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[Table](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/355373.html#cutid1)   



	5. Failure of Good Behavior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Sam goes to the movies with Baal, and ends up running into an old flame.

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[baal](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal), [baal/sam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal/sam), [baam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baam), [fic](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [sam carter](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/sam%20carter), [stargate:sg1](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/stargate:sg1), [the mating game](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/the%20mating%20game)  
  
  
---|---  
  
**Series:** The Mating Game  
**Title:** Failure of Good Behavior  
**Author:** [](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladytalon1**](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/)  
**Fandom:** Stargate: SG-1  
**Pairing/Characters:** Baal/Sam  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not making any $$  
**Summary:** AU. Sam goes to the movies with Baal, and ends up running into an old flame.  
**Word Count:** 3,617  
**A/N:** For the [](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/profile)[**10_dates**](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/) prompt: _Movie Theater_.

  


_   
****The Mating Game 5/10:** Failure of Good Behavior**   
_

[  
____spacer____](http://s74.photobucket.com/albums/i241/Ladytalon1/?action=view&current=Baam_matinggame.png)

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___

On days like these, that famous slogan applies to her; it really _isn't_ worth chewing through the straps. Sam runs an irritated hand through her hair as she tossed her duffel bag in the back of her car, wanting nothing more than to lock herself in so that she could scream her lungs out without anyone hearing her. Playing "Twenty Questions" all day long with Richard Woolsey is never her idea (or anyone else's) of fun and she's looking forward to going home, putting her feet up, and having a glass – or three – of wine.

Sam pulls up outside of her house to find that an envelope is sticking out of the slats in the gate. _Maybe they're training a new mail carrier_, she thinks as she goes up to it, but there's no postage stamp and no writing on the front except for her first name. She opens it to find a ticket to an event called, 'Double Feature: B Movie Mania!' at a local cinema.

Smiling at the ridiculous movie titles of _Evil Brain From Outer Space_ and _Santa Claus Conquers The Martians_, Sam pushes through the front gate and unlocks her door. She's just stepped off the welcome mat when a familiar sound makes her turn to see an Asgard beam depositing another envelope on her doorstep. She opens this one to find a map of the Springs inside, with two places marked on it – her street is labeled with the Gate hieroglyph for Earth, and another street downtown is marked with Baal's distinctive emblem.

Firmly repressing the urge to shred the map and the ticket (after all, Woolsey wouldn't have been on her case if not for Baal) Sam bolts the front door and drops her bag on the carpet, kicking off her shoes as she continues towards the wine bottle.

After two glasses, Sam's feeling mellow enough to pull her laptop over and do a search for whatever restaurant sits on the corner of 11th Street and Colorado Avenue. "La Petite Maison… French contemporary cuisine," she reads aloud, interested despite herself as she browses through the menu.

Another glance at the movie ticket shows that _Evil Brain From Outer Space_ doesn't start until eight, so they _could_ have an early dinner before going to the theater… she has the weekend off so, barring an emergency at the SGC, it won't matter how late she stays out. Sam's still irritated at Baal for being…well, _Baal_, but once again he's managed to pique her curiosity and provide the perfect outlet for her frustrations. She'll simply bring a spray bottle full of water along to keep him in line – he'll never know it's not symbiote poison.

Writing '6:30' on the map, Sam opens the front door and drops it onto the mat. She stares at it, waiting for it to be whisked away, but it sits there stubbornly. Sam rolls her eyes; of course Baal hasn't beamed it back to wherever he is – looks like human males aren't the _only_ ones who don't want to appear overeager. She's just decided to pick the paper back up when it disappears with what seems to her as a rather alarmed tone to the Asgard chimes.

She spends the next two hours relaxing with a book until it's time to pick out an outfit that's suitable for dinner and a B movie, and she heads out the door after settling on business casual.

Sam gets there fifteen minutes early and opts to go behind the cottage to watch the game of pétanque already in progress, but swiftly regrets her decision when she sees someone she never thought she'd run into here. Pete Shanahan turns toward her with a smile. "Sam?"

Hanging on his arm is a beautiful brunette who looks like a model. Not that she cares or anything. "Pete, how are you?" Sam asks awkwardly. "I didn't know you were in the area."

"Yeah, we just came up to see the sights. You know, vacation."

The other woman squeezes his arm and extends a hand towards Sam. "So you're the woman who broke my Pete's heart – I've heard so much about you. I'm Tasha."

_Great_. "Nice to meet you, Tasha. I have to say, I've heard nothing about _you_," Sam smiles. Pete opens his mouth to respond when Sam feels the sensation that's always paired with close proximity to a Goa'uld. Well, it's nice to know that Baal can never sneak up on her and his arrival is more than timely.

"There you are, my darling," Baal says, sliding his arms around her from behind and nuzzling her neck. "I apologize for being late."

She lets Baal get away with planting a kiss on her lips as she turns to look at him, and Sam glances back down at her watch to see that he's actually ten minutes early. "It's fine."

Pete is staring at Baal with irritation he has no right to feel, and Tasha's smile has a more appreciative edge to it. "Are these friends of yours, Samantha?" Baal asks slyly, keeping one hand on her shoulder as he moves to her side. "I don't believe we've met."

Sam clears her throat as she slides her arm around his waist to help foster the implication that they're a couple. "This is Pete."

Baal reaches to shake Pete's hand. "I'm-"

"Bill," Sam supplies quickly. Baal's head snaps around so fast, she wonders if Goa'uld can get whiplash. "This is Bill."

"Uh, nice to meet you, Bill," Pete says uncertainly, looking back and forth between them.

Baal is staring at her hard enough that she almost expects lasers to shoot from his eyes, and Sam gives him her most innocent smile. "Oh, don't mind him – he never seems to like it when I handle the introductions. Isn't that right? Bill?"

"Quite," Baal says through clenched teeth.

"I'm Tasha," Tasha offers with a glance at Pete for neglecting to introduce her.

"I'm sure you are." Baal's fingers tighten on Sam's shoulder slightly. "If you'll excuse us…"

He steers her away as Pete scratches his head uncomfortably, and Sam waits to see what he has to say about the nickname as they are seated and a waitress unobtrusively deposits menus and a wine list on their table. Baal's eyes flick up from the menu to look at her several times before he orders, and only then does he fold his hands together atop the table and give her his undivided attention.

"Bill."

"I could've named you Barney," Sam points out. "'Bill' is close enough to 'Baal' for you to be able to use it while you're doing whatever it is that you do all day."

"I don't need you to name me _anything_," Baal informs her.

Sam runs her finger around the rim of her water glass. "It's actually intended more for your host."

"He has his own name."

"What is it, then?"

"Baal," he says, leaning back in his seat.

Sam's eyebrows nearly meet her hairline. "You really expect me to believe that?"

"I expect nothing from you except that you will be as intractable tomorrow as you are today. You may believe what you wish." A smile curves his lips suddenly. "But try as I might, I simply cannot imagine you ever being involved – romantically or otherwise – with Detective Shanahan."

Their food arrives as Sam sits up straight in indignation. "How did you-"

"I suspect we both have our sources," Baal says, eyeing his plate distrustfully. "I cannot abide goat cheese, would you like this?" He nudges the slice of crostini balanced atop his meal with his knife.

"I can't believe you don't like goat cheese," Sam exclaims, reaching across the table for it. "I love it."

Baal pretends to write in the palm of his hand. "Note to self: purchase a goat and a bucket for Samantha Carter."

"Besides, wasn't it included in the official title of your food?" Sam asks, trying not to laugh. "And which of your sources told you about Pete?"

"An extremely loud source wearing the Tau'ri hairstyle known as 'pigtails,'" Baal says. Sam chokes on her mouthful of wine at this description of Vala, self-consciously looking around to see if she can see Pete anywhere. "He's most likely hiding behind the ficus."

"He is not," Sam laughs.

"But that is what a detective always hides behind," Baal insists, "Though he does seem to have left his fedora and trench coat back in Denver."

They smile at each other, and Sam realizes that they're actually getting along without trading insults. There's something disturbing about that if she thinks about it hard enough – he hadn't even made much of a scene when he'd met Pete. "So when are we going to build that engine?" she asks, determined to keep their newfound rapport on a positive note. "You encrypted half of the plans."

Baal's eyes fill with amusement. "You haven't been able to decrypt them?"

_So much for keeping it positive_. "Oh, eat your vegetables and leave me alone," she scolds, not wanting to mention the fact that the plans have been confiscated and sent to Area 51.

"As my queen commands," he says mockingly, inclining his head towards her.

"Funny."

She's awarded another smile and Baal shifts the conversation back to the engine. "Perhaps next week might provide us with an opportunity to build it," he says offhandedly. "I can arrange for delivery of whatever model of motorcycle you prefer."

Sam stares at him. "I already have one."

"I'm aware of that," Baal says, tapping a finger against the tabletop. "But if we were to convert _yours_, there's a good chance it will be confiscated and I doubt you'd be pleased at its loss."

Well, he _does_ have a point… it would be just like the IOA to confiscate her bike. Sam makes a mental note to remind him that she'll have to be the one who actually orders the new bike from the dealership. "So tell me, how did you overcome the usual interface problems? The hologram of it was more streamlined than I'd ever expect it to be."

"It was hardly difficult." Baal leans forward as he explains, and she interrupts occasionally for clarification. They stop momentarily to allow their dishes to be cleared away, then Baal smoothes his palm over one of the linen napkins. "The intake will have to be modified beyond what I'd previously thought to be adequate…do you have a pen?"

Sam hands one over and watches him as he quickly sketches a diagram of the engine. "We'd have to line that with trinium alloy," she interrupts, pointing.

"Only if _this_ part were unable to contain the energy flow," Baal argues, pinching her finger between two of his and moving it to another section of the drawing.

They debate the placement of the reactor's core until Sam realizes it's past time for them to head to the theater. She excuses herself to find the bathroom and when she comes back she finds Baal lounging in his chair conversing with a nervous-looking Pete, who's trying not to stare at the intricate diagram that's been drawn out on the napkin. "So, um, Bill tells me that you two are headed to that monster movie thing downtown," Pete says awkwardly.

"That's right," Sam says. "Evil Brain From Outer Space."

"It's supposedly the favored film of Deep Space Telemetrists everywhere," Baal deadpans.

Pete glances at him warily. "Right. Listen, Sam, do have a minute?"

Baal rises to his feet and holds her coat as she puts her arms into the sleeves. "We really should get going, Pete, but I'm all ears for however long it takes us to get to the door."

"I kinda need to talk to you alone."

Oh, boy. Sam clears her throat and opens her mouth but Baal interrupts with, "Tell me, Detective: Do you own a ficus?"

Sam hastily turns her laughter into a cough, and tells Pete that he's free to give her a call in the morning if he still has her number. They leave the confused man staring after them, wondering how Baal had known about his ficus tree.

She insists upon buying popcorn once they get to the theater, and Baal makes disapproving comments as she upends the oversized saltshaker over the largest, greasiest bag of popcorn available. "That's disgusting," he says, leaning over her shoulder to peer down at it.

"He wants to try some, doesn't he?"

Baal sighs. "Yes."

"Then why not let him out of his cage for awhile so he can have some popcorn?" Sam asks, turning back around after grabbing a handful of napkins.

His face darkens at the suggestion. "Absolutely not."

Sam looks at him for a few seconds before starting to smile. "You're jealous."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You _are_," Sam crows. "You're jealous because you think I like him better!" It certainly explains why he's been trying so hard not to pick a fight, and though her smile widens as she catches the pained look in Baal's eyes at her assessment, she decides to change the subject in case he decides that misbehavior is now necessary. "The movie's about to start, we should probably get in there."

Baal _hmmph_s and stalks off towards the theater door so that she nearly needs to run to keep up with him. He flings the door open for her so violently that it crashes into the wall and rebounds against his outstretched arm, and Sam bites back her smile as he glowers at her. _Well, well. A Goa'uld with self-esteem issues… I could get a lot of mileage out of_ this _one_.

The movie turns out to be just as bad as they'd both known it would be, but it's fun nonetheless; they're the only ones in the theater who have actually been to 'outer space' and Sam laughs until her sides hurt at finding out that the evil brain from the film title has another name: Balazar. "I'd better not get another nickname out of this," Baal complains. He makes her start laughing again by equating one of the more ridiculous-looking monsters with Richard Woolsey, and Sam tosses popcorn at the screen vengefully.

Neither of them harbors the desire to sit through _Santa Claus Conquers The Martians_, no matter how tempting the title is, and Sam slips her hand through the crook of Baal's proffered arm as they leave the theater. "That was the worst movie I've ever seen," she tells him cheerfully.

"It certainly was hideous," Baal agrees. "There is an entire hour of my life missing, and I'd like it back… " He trails off, and Sam follows his gaze across the street to where a very familiar man is standing. "Wait here," Baal orders suddenly, and heads across the street towards Pete in full Alpha Male mode.

Sam ignores the command and follows Baal as the System Lord imperiously raises a hand to halt the oncoming cars, not even looking to either side as he crosses. "Pete, what's going on?" she asks desperately before Baal can open his mouth – her date looks wrathful enough for his eyes to start glowing, and the last thing they need is for the public to become aware of an alien in their midst.

"Why are you following us?" Baal demands.

"I'm just trying to protect you, Sam." Pete inches back as Baal lifts a hand to grab him by the collar. "That guy I paid to tail you back when, he contacted me. Said you were in trouble."

Baal laughs softly. "The only one here in any kind of trouble is you, my friend. If you think you can draw that before I retaliate, I'd like to see it."

Sam cranes her neck to see that Pete is reaching one hand behind his back, where he's probably concealing a gun, and Baal's fingers are twitching above his pocket. She pushes back his suit jacket and sighs at the slender knife handle that comes into view, wondering just how he's been able to sit down without doing himself an injury. "Both of you knock it off. Pete, you have thirty seconds to explain what you're doing here following us before I call someone you really don't want me to call."

Pete gives her a hurried explanation about the private detective contacting him about Baal's 'suspicious behavior' and their military escorts. Baal starts to relax once he's satisfied that Pete isn't trying to move into his romantic territory, Sam tries not to be annoyed at being thought of as romantic territory in the first place, and Pete simply looks disappointed that Baal's goings on aren't exactly news to her.

She has to admit that it's nice that Pete's so concerned about her even after all that's happened between them, but reminds him that she's a big girl and can handle her own life. Baal picks up on the hint that her ex has a high enough security clearance, so he takes the opportunity to lean into Pete's personal space and warn him away from Sam once and for all. Pete swallows hard at seeing the white-gold light flare behind Baal's narrowed eyes before Sam pulls him back. "My regards to Tricia," Baal says, the resonance of the flange interlacing his tone.

Pete's lips thin. "It's Tasha."

"I'm sure it is." Baal glances pointedly to the wristwatch he's not wearing. "Isn't it a bit late for you to be out on the town without her? I'm sure she might take your absence as a sign that you're out following Samantha like a lovesick-"

"That's enough," Sam says firmly.

"I'm sure it is," Baal repeats smoothly, sliding his hands into his pockets and cocking his head with a smile for Pete. "Unless there was anything else, Mister Shanahan…?"

Pete clears his throat, glancing at him before looking back at Sam. "I'll call you."

The smile vanishes from Baal's face as he takes a step forward. "No, you will _not_."

Sam's had enough; she yanks the spray bottle of water from her purse and spritzes the air in front of his face. Alarmed, Baal lurches back from the mist and raises his hand to feel at the left side of his neck. "I didn't really mean for that to happen, Pete, I'm sorry. If you still feel like calling, we probably both have some explaining to do."

"Yeah. Yeah, sure," Pete says nervously, still watching Baal. "Isn't he one of those things…?"

"Just call me," Sam sighs. "It was nice seeing you again, Pete."

Pete escapes as Baal determines that it was just water, and Sam is left with an extremely irate Goa'uld. "That was water!"

"You'd better count yourself lucky that water's the only thing I put in there," Sam warns. "What the hell's wrong with you? You're over two thousand years old – start acting like it!"

Baal's glare could probably boil the remainder of the water in her bottle. "_You_ were the one-" he closes his mouth over the rest of the accusation and averts his eyes. "The car is two blocks west, if you don't mind walking."

He's jealous…again. Sam knows that she shouldn't do it, but she can't help herself. She prods. "I was the one who…what?"

"I don't want to talk about it any further," Baal decides, turning away from her to start walking.

Tormenting an insecure System Lord is something she just can't pass up. "Well, I'm not done talking about it."

Baal stops and looks up at the sky thoughtfully. "I know what you're doing."

"Will it work, O Almighty Balazar?"

"No, it will not. The car is this way." He pauses. "And don't call me that."

"Can you last two whole blocks while you're livid with jealousy?" Sam asks, walking behind him and addressing the back of his head.

"If I were jealous, which I am most assuredly _not_, I believe I could refrain from bursting into tears of helpless rage," Baal informs her. He slows down enough so that she can catch up, and when he silently offers his arm she takes it.

They don't speak until they get into the car, and don't talk even then… it's fine with Sam, because it gives her time to watch him and think about their date. She still finds it odd that Baal would be jealous of anyone, especially his own host, but then again they've all heard about vengeful and proud the original is so perhaps it shouldn't come as such a surprise.

If she thinks about their relationship – whatever that is at present – in terms of longevity, Baal's insecurity issues could present a real problem… but that's not really something she needs to be thinking about right now, or ever, however much she's been charmed by symbiote and host alike. _Just focus on the task at hand; feelings don't enter into it_, Sam thinks, watching Baal gaze out of the car window. _Feelings_ can't _enter into it._

They pull up outside of her house, and she remembers something she forgot to ask earlier. "Baal."

"Samantha."

"Back at the restaurant, you said your host's name was Baal."

His eyes glitter in the darkness. "I might have."

"No, you _did_."

"Is there a point coming soon?"

Sam leans towards him. "If he's Baal, then who are _you_?"

"Baal," he replies slowly, emphasizing the name as if she's stupid.

Well, she supposes it's her own fault for asking the wrong question. "Who _were_ you?"

The white flash of his grin tells her that she's gotten it right. "Antaios."

"What kind of a name is that?"

"Goodnight, Samantha."

Sam smiles as she gets out of the car. "Goodnight, boys."

Maybe this whole dating thing wasn't so bad, after all.

_tbc_

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[Table](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/355373.html#cutid1)   



	6. A Perfect Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Sam finds out a little more about Baal, and they build a motorcycle together.

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[baal](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal), [baal/sam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal/sam), [baam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baam), [fic](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [sam carter](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/sam%20carter), [stargate:sg1](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/stargate:sg1), [the mating game](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/the%20mating%20game)  
  
  
---|---  
  
**Series:** The Mating Game  
**Title:** A Perfect Team  
**Author:** [](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladytalon1**](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/)  
**Fandom:** Stargate: SG-1  
**Pairing/Characters:** Baal/Sam  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not making any $$  
**Summary:** AU. Sam finds out a little more about Baal, and they build a motorcycle together.  
**Word Count:** 3,292  
**A/N:** For the [](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/profile)[**10_dates**](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/) prompt: _Phone_.

  


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****The Mating Game 6/10:** A Perfect Team**   
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____spacer____](http://s74.photobucket.com/albums/i241/Ladytalon1/?action=view&current=Baam_matinggame.png)

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The black Harley Davidson Night Rod is finally sitting in one of the labs and Sam couldn't be happier. It's beautiful. She runs reverent hands across the glistening black surface – now that it's finally here, she doesn't really want to dismantle it to build the custom naquidah engine inside it, even though that's the only reason it's here in the first place. Sam feels the urge to fling her arms around it in apology, but contents herself with merely giving the seat another pat.

"Nice bike." Cam's voice makes her turn to see the other colonel leaning on the doorframe. "He buy that for you? Most girls just get jewelry."

Sam rolls her eyes at the teasing. "It's not a gift."

"If you say so," Cam says, raising his eyebrows. "Looks pretty 'gifty' to me."

"Well, looks can be deceiving."

"If you say so," her friend repeats, pushing off the door to follow her back out – Sam restrains herself from giving the Harley a last longing glance because she'll never hear the end of it if she does. "Jackson's back from that conference, but don't expect to get any alone time with the poor guy – soon as Vala heard he was back, she was on him like white on rice."

Smiling at the analogy, Sam makes a mental note to wait for Vala's exuberance to wear off before approaching Daniel to ask about the name Baal insists had once been his. "Want to grab some jello with me? They made blue today."

"Sure, why not? I think Teal'c's already down there inhaling everything in sight."

They find the Jaffa sitting in front of a tray laden with just about every item the commissary has to offer. Cam hovers by the parfaits, unable to choose, so Sam slides into the seat next to Teal'c once she's grabbed a cup filled with blue cubes of gelatin. She leans into her friend affectionately, and puts her spoon in her mouth as Teal'c turns to smile at her. "You seem content, Colonel Carter."

"Well, they _did_ finally get my favorite jello back in stock after a seemingly endless month of lemon-lime," she sighs happily.

"That is not what I meant," Teal'c replies, lifting a forkful of green beans to his mouth.

Sam sighs as Cam finally chooses banana cream and comes to sit with them. "Not you, too."

"Not me what?" Cam asks, plopping down in his seat and groaning when he realizes he's forgotten to pick up a spoon. "Hold that thought, I'll be right back."

Teal'c looks over at her. "However unlikely it seems, you are happier when you have been spending time with Baal."

There's not even a hint of condemnation in his tone, but she feels her cheeks grow a little warm anyway. "It's complicated."

"Indeed."

"What're we talking about?" Cam asks, spoon at the ready. Teal'c distracts him by reaching out and snagging the parfait, supposedly intent upon having a taste. "Hey!"

Sam digs her spoon into her cup, dislodging a blue cube of gelatin as she looks over at Teal'c. She still remembers the comment he'd made when SG-1 had been trying to keep Adria from finding them while Daniel worked on Merlin's weapon, and another Baal clone had been helping her find a command code in the Ancient obelisk. "_Clearly you work well together_," Teal'c had said.

Apparently they still do.

Daniel is still incommunicado, so she settles for the tried-and-true method of simply sliding a note underneath the door of his room before heading to her lab to get some work done. Trailing her fingertips across the table, she smiles at the ugly 'scoreboard' clock Baal gave her and flips open a file folder to begin cross-checking the items brought back by SG-5.

She registers the sound of footsteps approaching and looks up as Baal slides into the seat next to her, peering at the files spread out in front of her. "That looks interesting," he lies.

Sam slides the inventory records away from him and closes the folder. "It also looks like it's none of your business."

"Oh, _zing_." Baal glances around her lab. "So is this where you make your plans to thwart me at every turn?"

She taps her left temple meaningfully. "Nope, this is all the space I need for that. Are you ready to start working on the bike? I still have to do a few things before I have any free time."

Baal stretches his arms out and places his palms flat on the table. "I can wait."

Glancing towards the door, where two armed guards can be seen on either side of the doorframe, Sam suppresses a sigh. "Fine, but don't touch anything." He raises his eyebrows at her, and she adds, "And no snooping of any kind."

"Consider me duly warned," Baal says drily, settling into his chair and fixing her with an intent stare that doesn't seem to waver when she returns to her work.

"Why are you so early, anyway? I thought we agreed to meet at four," she comments, signing off on an inventory list and glancing up to meet his eyes.

He drums his fingers on the table and cocks his head. "Your government seems intent upon performing medical tests upon me that I have no intention of submitting to."

Sam wonders about that for a minute – she's not sure why that would be necessary since they still have blood samples from each of the clones the SG teams had captured, but there had to be a good reason. Maybe she'll stop in to see Carolyn in the morning. "Well, I'm sure that they're only-"

"…trying to assert control over me in whatever way possible. Tell me, _Colonel_, is this standard procedure for all of your allies, or should I be thrilled at the special treatment?" he snaps. "Having guards follow me constantly while I am expected to deliver myself up for dissection is hardly an intelligent way to gain my trust."

Excuses and self-righteous justifications crowd their way onto her tongue – _well, they're just trying to keep this planet safe from you; what do you expect?_ and _do you really think we need **your** trust?_ – but then she thinks of how the IOA still doesn't trust Teal'c even after all he's done (and Teal'c was their enemy once upon a time, too) and they barely tolerate Vala, though that's a little more understandable, and though she wants to say that it's not the same thing… it _is_ the same.

"You're right, it's not a fair exchange," she admits.

Baal's eyelids flicker in response to the not-quite-apology, and he leans back in his chair without another word. Sam waits a few moments more before deciding that he's finished speaking for the time being, then goes back to her work.

When she's finished, Sam looks up to find her companion seemingly fast asleep in his chair and she slides out of her own to move closer silently. She stretches out a hand and just as her fingertips touch Baal's chest, his eyes snap open and she can't stop from jumping about a foot into the air. "Oh good, you're awake," Sam blurts, trying to conceal the fact that she'd been trying to dump him onto the floor. "You were snoring," she informs him next. "And there was drool."

He narrows his eyes. "There was not."

"There was definitely some moisture," Sam insists, tapping the corner of her own mouth. "It was right about here."

Baal snorts at her dismissively, and she smiles as she glances towards the door. "Are you ready to give Mr. Woolsey a few more nightmares?"

"Lead the way."

They start working on the bike and once again she's surprised by how easily they seem to understand each other, and how much fun she's having with him. Sam's keen awareness of Baal's guards and the group of other officers up in the observation room starts to fade as she relaxes and enjoys the challenge.

"Hand me that, would you…?" Baal gestures with his chin towards a tool on the workbench beside her, and their fingers brush as she passes it over. He smiles at her, she smiles at him, and they go back to work after glancing up at their audience to see how closely they're being watched.

Sam clears her throat after his hands encounter hers once more. "So I take it you've got one of these yourself, since you seem so familiar with it," she says awkwardly, ever mindful of the crowd (which now includes General Landry) in the observation room.

"That's a fair assessment," Baal replies, not taking his eyes off of the wire he's carefully attaching to the generator. "You seem surprised."

"I would've put you down as having a crotch rocket, that's all."

"Oh, I have one." Baal tilts his head back to look at her, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. "I _also_ have a racing motorcycle."

Well, she walked right into _that_ one. "Classy."

He watches her rubbing a hand over her eyes as she tries not to laugh. "Are you feeling unwell, Samantha? You look as if you have a headache."

"You're a headache."

"An extremely well dressed headache."

"Stop fishing for compliments," Sam reprimands sternly.

Baal just smirks at her as he goes back to finish attaching the generator to the bike, and she takes a closer look at his outfit. It's much more casual than anything she's used to seeing him wear – even the most vain System Lord wouldn't wear Armani to customize a Harley Davidson – and as her gaze drops to his shoes Sam suddenly recognizes them as the boots she'd helped Baal's host choose.

She sighs at Baal to let him know she's aware of his little trick, and another amused look is aimed at her over the chassis. "Took you long enough."

"So, the entire time…?"

"Only half," he says dismissively. "Are you finished with your part yet?"

Sam glares. "You know I am."

"Then," Baal says smoothly, "Why don't we begin reassembly?"

She bites back a rude reply and glances up at the group of men still watching them as if they're the best show on TV. "Why not?"

This time it seems like they're touching constantly, though it never really appears to be on purpose, and Sam discovers that she doesn't mind a bit… and that she hadn't even when she'd thought the symbiote had been in control. Baal's fingers skim the inside of her wrist and she gives him a warning glance, nodding to the windows slightly. "Well, that's no fun," he declares.

"It's terrible," Sam says mock-sympathetically. "Weren't you the one who wanted to put this thing back together?" His haughty sniff makes her smile, and they turn their attention back to the motorcycle. It isn't long before she feels Baal's thigh pressing against hers as he leans on the workbench to reach for a tool that he doesn't even need. "Speaking of _terrible_…"

Cam was right, she decides with a shake of her head. Other women get flowers and jewelry… she gets a motorcycle and a System Lord feeling her up in front of an audience.

When the Night Rod is fully reassembled (minus its original engine, of course) it looks just as beautiful as it had when it had first been delivered, but the fact that it can now go past Mach 1.5 makes it seem a lot more attractive to Sam. "Care for a ride?" Baal asks, watching her smooth her palm over the seat. "On the motorcycle," he clarifies with a smirk that makes Sam roll her eyes.

He's just swung a leg over the bike and is starting it up when General Landry comes into the room, followed by all four of Baal's guards. "I hate to interrupt…"

"Fun's over, Sir?"

"I'm afraid so," Landry says, glancing at Baal. "The IOA requests the pleasure of your company."

Baal strokes his goatee thoughtfully. "Then they shall have to wait until I am pleased to provide it."

"Another time, maybe," Sam says hurriedly, trying to forestall Landry's objection.

Lips curving into a smile, Baal inclines his head towards her. "Perhaps. As always, Samantha, it has been a pleasure."

He leaves, and Sam looks at the modified Night Rod. "Is it too much to hope for that you'll let me take this out for a spin?"

"I'm afraid so, Colonel," Landry informs her. "I believe this is headed straight for Area 51 to be studied."

Sam refrains from pointing out that the same officers consigning the motorcycle to be taken apart had watched it being put together in the first place. A supplemental argument, that she'd been right here the entire time, is one she hesitates to use for reasons she doesn't even want to think about. "If you think it's a wise decision, Sir," is what she finally chooses to say.

He gives her The Look. "I think it's best not to give the IOA any reason to think that we're not being cooperative."

There's a hint in that she doesn't much care for. "Why wouldn't we cooperate, Sir?"

"Oh, various reasons," the General says airily. "I'll see you in the morning, Colonel Carter."

"Yes, Sir," she replies, trying to keep the bitterness out of her tone. _Various reasons._

Sam's on her way to the parking garage when she checks her messages and finds that Daniel's left at least three of them. She juggles her keys and purse trying to unlock the car door while trying not to drop her phone on the ground as she listens. _"Hi, Sam; it's Daniel. Got your note… well, I had to chase a certain someone who won't be named when that someone stole it before I could read it…_" in the background, Vala's voice is raised in protest and the message is cut off.

The second picks up with, "_It's me again, Sam. Sorry about that. Antaios is a figure in both Egyptian and Greek mythology but I'm assuming you're interested in the Egyptian application, which has a pretty interesting slant to it. Antaios was known as the 'falcon god' and… Vala, no, don't touch that-_"

She grins as the last message starts playing. "_As I try to keep saying before_ someone _interrupts me, Antaios was believed to possess a dual nature – besides being known as the 'falcon god' he was also known as the 'two falcons.' The records aren't terribly specific, but what I could find suggested that Antaois was merged into Horus. We know that the Goa'uld embodiment of Horus was Heru'ur, but there's little or no mention of Antaios as an actual Goa'uld. I can bring in some source material for you if you're still interested? See you tomorrow, Sam_."

Thinking about the new information regarding Baal, Sam drives home and the last of her bad mood evaporates upon finding a motorcycle helmet sitting on the welcome mat. Carefully stepping over it, she hurries inside to dump her bag on the kitchen counter and change before going back out and picking up the helmet, walking out to the street with it tucked under her arm.

The sound of a motorcycle engine a few blocks away makes Sam look up from her study of the helmet, and she glances around to make sure none of Baal's babysitters are in evidence as he pulls up in front of her house. Baal pulls off his helmet and his grin is very much a boyish 'look what I got away with.' He's dressed entirely in black leather and his short hair is rumpled from the helmet. "Where's your fan club?"

"Still peering through binoculars somewhere, I daresay," Baal answers, shifting to pat the seat behind him. "Would the lady like a ride?"

"The lady would like to _drive_."

"All in good time, my intoxicating adversary," he says archly.

She laughs at the cheesiness and crouches down to examine the altered engine. Baal politely moves a leather-clad leg so she can get a better look, and Sam smiles as her fingertips brush the naquidah generator. "Is this the same one?" She wouldn't put it past him to lift the bike right out from under the IOA's collective nose.

"Sadly, the product of our combined effort remains in the hands of the annoying and unenlightened." Baal cocks his head. "You might even say that it was our labor of lo-"

"Uh huh."

"To answer your question, this is my first effort at constructing the interface as well as the first time testing it. It could explode and kill us both," Baal informs her cheerfully as she stands up.

Sam rolls her eyes. "I can't wait to risk life and limb with you."

"Somehow I knew that would be your reaction," he muses.

She rolls her eyes yet again when she moves to sit behind Baal and he declares that she must 'pay' him first. "I could have you arrested for extortion – you know that, right?"

Baal smirks and shifts his grip on the helmet he's been balancing on his thigh. "Flouting the law has become my personal hobby on this planet."

Sam steps closer until her legs press against his. "Who are you right now?"

His arm slips around her waist. "Does it matter that much?"

"Not really," she admits, swaying closer. Baal's arm tightens around her, and in a sudden movement he slides back to pull her down crosswise on the seat in front of him. "Have you been practicing that?" Sam accuses.

Baal's other hand threads through her hair, gently urging her closer. "All afternoon," he murmurs before he kisses her. This time it's not rushed because their minders have been momentarily distracted, and Sam hooks an arm around his neck as she parts her lips beneath his. She can feel his goatee rubbing against her face and absentmindedly hopes that she won't have obvious beard-burn in the morning.

She pulls away first, before either of his hands can start to wander, and gently bites down on his bottom lip before she releases it. "So how fast can this go without one of us dying?"

He has to clear his throat twice before he can tell her that he's ready to find out if she is, and Sam settles behind him after putting her helmet on. She presses close and the disorienting double buzz of the naquidah in the generator as well as in his blood makes her wrap her arms around Baal's waist tighter than she really needs to. He guns the engine and they're off.

When the Night Rod is parked in front of her house hours later, Sam allows Baal to walk her to the door. They share another kiss that's just as slow and heated as before, and Sam can clearly see the muted glow of his eyes behind his lowered lids when she opens her eyes first. "So I guess we survived."

"It would appear so," Baal agrees.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sam can see her neighbor peering through the blinds at them and wonders how long it'll take Mrs. Amberg to spread the news of Sam's new 'boyfriend' around to everyone in the Springs. And how long the rumor will take to reach the IOA, but it's not as if they haven't been seen together in public before. "I'll see you later," she says, not really intending for it to come out sounding like a question.

He steps back and offers her a sweeping bow that makes her smile at the incongruity of the elegant gesture performed by a Goa'uld in motorcycle leathers. Sam lets him steal another kiss before Baal leaves and she goes inside to make dinner, wondering if she should invite him in next time.

  


_tbc_

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[Table](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/355373.html#cutid1)   



	7. Of Trust And Throwing Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU.

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[baal](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal), [baal/sam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal/sam), [baam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baam), [fic](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [sam carter](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/sam%20carter), [stargate:sg1](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/stargate:sg1), [the mating game](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/the%20mating%20game)  
  
  
---|---  
  
**Series:** The Mating Game  
**Title:** Of Trust And Throwing Distance  
**Author:** [](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladytalon1**](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/)  
**Fandom:** Stargate: SG-1  
**Pairing/Characters:** Baal/Sam, SG-1  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not making any $$  
**Summary:** AU.  
**Word Count:** 3,261  
**A/N:** For the [](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/profile)[**10_dates**](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/) prompt: _Disappointment_. Some of you might notice that this is a completely different journal than the one you're accustomed to visiting to read this series - due to events irl, my person LJ has been locked and I will be moving all my fic here. If there are any links that do not work, please contact me and I will either unlock the entry you're looking for or simply shift it over here. Thanks! :)

  


_   
****The Mating Game 7/10:** Of Trust And Throwing Distance**   
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Blinking at her reflection, Sam rifles a hand through her hair. "_What_ am I doing?" she groans before turning on the faucet and splashing her face with cold water. She can probably do with a cold _shower_, the way her dreams have been going lately. Just thinking of the previous night's installment makes the color rise to her cheeks.

Sam decides that a cold shower is indeed called-for and steps into the bathtub to huff and squeak her way through an icy-cold shower, which serves to distract her from the fact that in three hour's time, Baal will be joining SG-1 off-world. She supposes that it's a good thing that, in spite of his justifiable misgivings, Baal has decided to share the location of a ZPM with them. Sam hopes that it'll go a long way towards allaying the IOA's suspicion of him, but she won't be holding her breath.

Sam has no idea how her teammates – let alone the General – are going to react, but she has no intention of letting this become anything but professional. _This time_, the voice in the back of her head says knowingly. Sam tells it to shut up, and she goes to work.

Baal is waiting just outside the weapons room after she's done gearing up and her knees threaten to dissolve into jello when those brown-gold eyes are turned towards her. "Colonel," he greets, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. Oh, his _mouth_…

Sam drags her gaze up from it and delivers a warning glare that makes his smile grow wider. "Baal," she says repressively. "Not here."

He suggestively cocks an eyebrow. "I can wait," he says. Sam rolls her eyes at the expression of pure glee on Baal's face when Cameron and Daniel walk up and exchange startled glances at what they think they've just walked into.

"What's going on? What did we miss?" Vala's voice rings out, and they all look over to where she's coming in arm-in-arm with Teal'c. "I'll bet it was something sensational," she adds with a sly grin.

"I am not certain that Baal has sufficient security clearance to be sensational."

Baal's attention is sufficiently detoured. "Was that a _joke_, Teal'c? Your time amongst the Tau'ri seems to have made you soft."

"Well, what about you? You love it here so much that you came running with your tail between your legs the moment things stopped working out for you," Cam taunts. "I'd say that's pretty soft."

Baal simply smiles. "On the contrary, I am quite-"

Sam hurriedly interrupts. "Don't you _dare_ finish that sentence."

He crosses his arms and looks pleased with himself, making Cam break in. "This isn't a date," the other colonel seems obligated to point out.

Baal looks over at him. "Then you won't mind the fact that I didn't bring you flowers."

Sam coughs as Cam blinks in surprise. "Shall we go?"

"We shall," Teal'c says.

Vala, who has been busily arguing with Daniel in the background over not being allowed a weapon larger than a zat, breaks off in mid-complaint with a wink. "Yes, let's – Sam, why don't you watch Loverboy's six?" with another wink at Sam's glare, Vala saunters off to the Gate Room. "Coming, Daniel?"

Daniel pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "…Yeah. This is going to be fun."

Baal frowns as the Airman closes the weapons cage and stations himself in front of it. "Don't I get a weapon?" he asks as Sam gestures for him to go first.

"No," chorus Cam and Daniel.

"You have your razor sharp wit to protect yourself with," Sam says.

"Oh, now. Sam will cover – I mean, _protect_ \- you, I'm sure," Vala teases.

"Can we go now?" Sam asks exasperatedly.

There are a few formalities to undergo before they're finally cleared to leave Earth with the guest of (dubious) honor, but Sam relaxes slightly as they step from the Gate on the other side and the wormhole closes.

Sam glances over at Baal to find him watching her, and one corner of his mouth quirks in response to her gaze. Teal'c watches silently as Sam hurriedly averts her eyes, trying not to smile back at him. _Professional. Right_.

"So where is this ZPM of yours?" Cam asks, looking around at the wooded area they've come out into. "I don't see anything but rocks and trees."

Baal tilts his head. "You mean, why are there not several neon signs advertising the ZPM's location? How appallingly _thoughtless_ of me not to have set such markers." Vala settles on a nearby fallen tree, her eyes aglow at the indication of a possible fight this early in the mission. "It's not far," Baal continues.

"How do we know you haven't done something to _this_ one, too?" Daniel asks suspiciously. Teal'c's eyebrows lift and he nods in agreement.

"You could trust me," Baal suggests. "That _is_ the point of all this, is it not?" His eyes meet Sam's once more and this time she can't help smiling at him. "It's this way."

He indicates the direction they're to take with an outstretched hand. They head off in search of wherever it is that Baal has hidden the ZPM, and Sam wonders which generation of clones put it there to begin with. When she makes her way over to walk beside him, she asks about it. "So how long have you – you specifically – been alive? Have you actually been here, or is the location an inherited memory?"

"That's not a very polite thing to ask, now is it, Samantha? Imagine if I were to ask you about your age," Baal rebukes. "The end result, of the Tau'ri obtaining a working – and therefore _useful_ – Zero Point Module is the same. The means of my knowledge, and how long I have had it, cease to matter."

"But you already know how old I am," Sam points out wryly.

"This is true," Baal admits with a sly look.

Cam moves closer to look between them suspiciously before returning to look for the trap he's certain has been laid for them. Sam glances around at the other members of SG-1 to find Daniel and Vala deep in discussion about the importance of one looking one's best on an offworld mission (truth be told, Vala is supplying much of the conversation and Daniel's busy trying not to smile), and Teal'c seems to be paying attention to everyone's conversations as well as keeping watch.

Baal guides them through the woods to a large rock formation that isn't _quite_ a mountain, and Open Sesame's it somehow – she only sees him place his hand on one of the protrusions and a section of it swings inward.

Teal'c moves inside quickly, leaning out to assure them that it's safe once he's given it a once-over. Inside is something akin to Merlin's laboratory, with several pieces of Goa'uld technology interfaced with the terminals. "You adapted all this by yourself?" Daniel asks, peering at a tablet filled with Ancient writing. "Quite an accomplishment."

Cam casts a disparaging eye about the room. "Looks like too much work for one pampered System Lord. Where's the ZPM?"

"Say, 'please,'" Baal instructs.

"You could just tell us where it is," Sam interrupts, giving him the evil eye, "Instead of making Colonel Mitchell try to shoot you."

Baal stares back for a few moments before announcing that he's decided to tell them after all, as if Sam's urging hadn't made the slightest impression upon him, and Vala, Daniel, and Cam disappear into a cleverly concealed stairwell while Sam waits outside with Baal and Teal'c. The latter observes them curiously when Baal drifts closer to her, then turns his back to ignore the both of them resolutely.

"So," Baal finally asks after what seems like an eternity of eyeing her up. "Come here often?" Whatever she's been expecting him to say first, it sure as hell isn't that - Sam's mouth falls open with a strangled sound that sounds a lot like a goose honking.

Teal'c swivels around to check her reaction just as she dissolves into laughter and Baal smiles in satisfaction. "That's terrible; where did you learn that?" she demands.

"Around," he teases, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against one of the rocks surrounding the cave entrance. He flirts with her outrageously until Teal'c can no longer pretend to be disinterested, and Cam appears high above them to bellow down at her.

"Sam! We need you up here."

Teal'c settles in to watch Baal as Sam goes inside to the steps carved into the rock. Emerging in a chamber not unlike the one she's just ascended from, Sam walks over to where Vala and Cam are peering into a recessed portion of the wall. Daniel's busy studying the writing on one of the Ancient terminals, and he spares her a quick glance as she goes past him. "What's going on?" Sam asks as she approaches.

Cam and Vala pull back from the wall just enough for her to see a ZPM embedded in the rock with wires curving out from the carved hole and leading into what is unmistakably an explosive device. _Typical_.

She goes out onto the 'balcony' to look down at where Baal is now lounging against a tree inspecting the gold brocade trim of his ever-so-practical burgundy velvet Nehru coat. "You are _such_ a pain in the ass."

"To what do I owe the honor of your epithet?"

"The ZPM is wired to blow the second we remove it," she says sourly. "Of course, I suppose you know nothing about it." Baal spreads his hands and looks up at her with a 'who, me?' expression, and she sighs. "Of course."

"Are there very many wires?" he asks lazily. "Pull the thinnest one out."

Sam leans out further. "That's your solution?"

"Well, you might consider closing your eyes very tightly right before you pull it out…" Baal trails off and cocks his head thoughtfully. "That was a rather poor choice of words, wouldn't you agree?"

Sam rolls her eyes and pushes off from the battlement. "Grow up."

Back inside the cave, she examines the wires carefully and glances over at Cam when he crouches down beside her. "I say we get His Royal Highness in here to yank out the wire if he's so sure about it. I doubt he'll want to blow _himself_ to kingdom come."

"The force of the explosion would flatten everything in a ten mile radius," Sam reminds him. "It won't really matter if he's inside or out."

"You really think we should trust him on this?" Cam asks her softly. "I've gotta tell you, his track record is less than stellar… but you're the one who's been spending time with the snake lately."

"Without wasting time calling in a bomb squad, and delaying the delivery of this ZPM back to Earth…" Sam closes her thumb and forefinger around the thinnest wire. "It's a gamble either way. We'd still be here."

Cam stands up, clearing his throat. "Your call, Sam."

_Every relationship is built on trust, isn't that what they always say?_ Sam thinks to herself wryly. "I'm pulling the wire," she says aloud. Her friend nods and automatically takes a few steps back as Sam releases her grip on the wire to flex her fingers before taking hold of it again. She takes a deep breath, squeezes her eyes shut, and yanks it out.

The constant, low hum that's been filling the chamber cuts off abruptly and Sam opens an eye to find that the display on the bomb has gone dark. "It's off," she says, a little too loudly. "We can take the ZPM."

Daniel moves forward with Vala, and Sam stays just long enough to see them disconnecting the remaining wires before going back out on the landing. "You closed your eyes, didn't you?" Baal's voice floats up to her even before she reaches the battlement.

"What if that bomb had exploded?" she asks, leaning on the stones to look down at him.

Baal puts his hands behind his head and leans back further. "Samantha. I wouldn't hurt you."

The slightly scolding tone of his voice, as if she really should know better by now, makes her feel like laughing. "That's good to know."

He grins up at her suddenly. "Of course, if you _want_ me to then that's a different story altogether…" he trails off and sits up. "You'd better come down from there."

"Why?"

"Okay Sam, we've got it – let's head back," Cam calls out before Baal can answer.

Moments later, the rock trembles beneath her feet hard enough for Sam to feel it spike up through the soles of her boots. "Because of that," Baal replies, sliding off his perch. The tremor hits again, stronger this time, and she hears Cam yelling for the others to get out _now_.

Sam turns her head to see a piece of rock crashing down the side of the fake mountain. "What did you do?"

"Failsafe. Come _down_," Baal snaps. The rock lurches beneath her as if to emphasize his demand, and she's almost knocked from her feet.

She can hear the others calling for her and yells at them not to wait, she's right behind them. Unfortunately as Sam runs for the entrance, it gives way to the next tremor and collapses so that her exit is blocked. She swears angrily and skips backward to avoid being crushed by another boulder slamming down just a few feet from her.

The only avenue of escape is over the side and down to the tree line, and Sam casts a quick glance around before swinging a leg over the rapidly crumbling battlement. Her teammates have emerged from the cave entrance and are trying to skirt the side of the mountain to reach her, but the falling rock is making it impossible for them to get close enough.

"Are you going to spend the night up there, or are you planning on coming down?" Baal yells at her.

Sam makes a mental note to throw a rock at his head as soon as she gets down there, and begins to descend. She's a quarter of the way down when the mountain shudders so violently, the ridge her feet have found purchase on disintegrates. A secondary tremor knocks her off completely, and then she's hurtling down towards the ground.

Something slams into her with concussive force that shoves the air from her lungs, and she opens her eyes to see Baal directly below with his left hand lifted towards her. The golden light of a hand device blazes in his opened palm and if she weren't so concerned about the way the force of it was keeping her lungs deflated, she'd wonder where he's been hiding it.

Her stomach swoops as the pressure eases and she's momentarily weightless, then gravity reasserts control and Sam resumes falling. Baal stops her in midair once again and his brow furrows in concentration as he begins to step backwards, easing her along with him by tilting his hand back.

Baal lets her down carefully until she's dangling a foot above him, then lowers his hand. Sam drops the rest of the way down onto him, and they both fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs. "Thanks," she says breathlessly. He grunts in complaint, and Sam realizes that her shoulder is digging into his stomach so she flops around until she's draped over him. "Better?"

"Barely," Baal wheezes theatrically.

Sam slowly regains her breath as the cave facility finishes collapsing, and she pushes herself up to fan at the dust clouds billowing around them. "Thanks for giving us the heads-up about the failsafe," Sam finally says, glaring down at her Goa'uld companion still supine between her knees.

He raises himself up on one elbow, wiping one hand across the dirt on his face, and she can see a gash on his left cheekbone where a rock must have struck him. "We disabled that," the symbiote tells her, eyes glowing angrily. "It was tampered with."

"By another of you."

"There's none else could do it. Leave that; it will heal." This last is in response to Sam bending over him to inspect the bloody cut on his face, and Baal frowns suddenly. "Are you injured?"

Sam closes her eyes as he reaches up a hand to her face, and she feels his thumb gently brushing away something caught in her eyelashes. "I'm fine. Never been saved from plummeting to my death by a ribbon device before, so that was new." She climbs off of him and sits cross-legged in the grass. "You're absolutely filthy."

"I'm told it's part of my charm," Baal informs her, sitting up and rubbing a hand through his short hair. A cloud of dust rises from it, and Sam watches in fascination as he tries to stroke the dirt from his goatee. He looks just like a cat trying to groom himself and she starts laughing at him.

Baal glares at her for it, indignant at the very idea that he could be unintentionally amusing, and she's still laughing as she leans forward and kisses the pout from his lips. "This was a terrible date."

"Is that what it was."

"You can do better next time." Sam gets to her feet and scrutinizes him, holding out a hand to help him up. "I think your fancy coat has given up the ghost."

Baal ignores her and stands up, sliding the coat off and looking at the shredded fabric before swinging it over a shoulder. He offers her his arm and Sam takes it as they set off in search of the others.

Back at the SGC, they're all congratulated for delivering the ZPM and Baal gives Landry a mocking bow before he leaves with two marines following him. When he's gone, Cam reveals that he's brought back several pieces of the interfaced Goa'uld and Ancient technology and Sam stares at him thoughtfully until he looks away from her and down to his boots.

At first her report doesn't mention the fact that Baal used a hand device to stop her from what could have been a _very_ nasty fall, but she rereads it and decides that she'll put it in after all… she's tired of constantly worrying about the IOA. She also comes to the realization that it's a waste of time trying to make sure her friends don't feel disappointed at the fact that she's dating a System Lord; if she were in Cam's shoes she probably would have looted that cave, too.

Sam grins as she envisions asking her friend if he wants to go on a double date with them. Just to be mean, she asks Cam about it as they head down to the parking garage and has the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. She drives off, leaving him still fumbling with his keys and stuttering.

When she gets home, Sam checks the mailbox to find that an envelope marked only with her name has been shoved in with the supermarket sale flyers, bills, and junk mail. Opening it, she finds that the only thing inside is a wooden spoon with an address burned into the handle. "If all else fails, I can always smack him with it," Sam thinks to herself. Giving the surveillance van parked across the street a cheerful wave, she goes inside her house to read the rest of her mail.

  


_tbc_

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[Table](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/355373.html#cutid1)   



	8. </strong> Contact High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: Baal lets Sam in on a secret

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Current music:**

| 

The Lonely Island  
  
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**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[baal](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal), [baal/sam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal/sam), [baam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baam), [fic](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [sam carter](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/sam%20carter), [stargate:sg1](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/stargate:sg1), [the mating game](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/the%20mating%20game)  
  
  
**Series:** The Mating Game  
**Title:** Contact High  
**Author:** [](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladytalon1**](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/)  
**Fandom:** Stargate: SG-1  
**Pairing/Characters:** Baal/Sam, SG-1  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not making any $$  
**Summary:** AU: Baal lets Sam in on a secret  
**Word Count:** 3,456  
**A/N:** For the [](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/profile)[**10_dates**](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/) prompt: _Surprise_.

  


  
Sam chews the inside of her cheek as she stares at the wooden spoon Baal had given to her after their last date, wondering what in the world she's going to do about it. She's spent the last two weeks wondering about it during what little free time she's had between missions and with a week of downtime ahead of her, Sam knows quite well that the surveillance van will still be parked in front of her house.

They've probably been there this entire time expecting that, for some bizarre reason or other, Baal will spontaneously decide to add breaking and entering to his IOA scorecard.

Cam still thinks she's nuts, but at least he's leaving her alone about it. Well, only if the 'Kirk' jokes don't count.

"So, are you going?" Vala hurls herself into a nearby chair and extends an imperious hand for the spoon. Sam hands it over, and watches her friend study it before rapping it on the side of the table. "Watch yourself, Sam; he's into spanking."

Sam grabs it back and shoves it into a thigh pocket. "The only one getting spanked is going to be him," she says in a tone meaning that she won't put up with any nonsense from either Baal or Vala.

"That's what I mean," Vala winks. "Oh, cheer up. I was only joking. Okay, not _exactly_, but still. You can talk to me, that's what best friends are for!"

Sighing, Sam glances around them – the closest people are three cadets gossiping together and one very bored-looking airman staring at his jello – and leans over the table. "Well, it's like this…" Vala leans over eagerly as Sam explains about the surveillance crew setting up shop, and gives an edited version of her feelings at being so clearly labeled untrustworthy (yet again).

Vala puffs at her bangs thoughtfully. "Are there cameras inside your house, too?"

"I have no idea. I'll find out tomorrow," Sam admits. "I wouldn't be surprised if there were."

Teal'c arrives at their table with a tray overflowing with food, and Vala snitches a piece of pie from it while the Jaffa raises an eyebrow at the theft. "You don't mind, do you, Muscles? Well, _I_ would be surprised to find that Baal hasn't already thought of that – the perverted little men spying on you, I mean."

"What do you mean?" Sam wonders.

"Well," Vala says conspiratorially and somewhat indistinctly since her mouth is full of lemon meringue pie, "Just think about it for a minute. We all know that Baal is very good at dealing with these types of things; as well as being wildly irritating, he is incredibly intelligent and sneaky."

"Indeed he is," Teal'c offers.

Vala cocks her head to one side and twirls her fork like it's a baton. "And he's always had a special place in his heart for blackmail. I'd say you don't have much to worry about. Well, except for that whole spanking business."

"To which spanking business are you referring, Vala Mal Doran?" Teal'c asks.

"She's not referring to anything," Sam says hastily. "Nobody's getting spanked."

"That's certainly a shame," Baal's voice interrupts them suddenly. Vala inhales half of her pie in surprise and Teal'c comes to the rescue by smacking her between the shoulder blades. "I believe you're supposed to chew your food before swallowing it, Qetesh."

Vala flaps her hands at him balefully and gets up to run for the nearest bottle of water, so Sam finishes her friend's sentence. "Her name is _Vala_."

"Hm." Baal looks as if he could care less and settles in the chair next to her, glancing over negligently as Teal'c lowers his fork to stare at him. "Ah, Teal'c. One day you're going to surprise yourself by actually showing an emotion."

Teal'c eyebrows approach his hairline. "Baal. To what do we owe this visit?"

Baal shrugs. "I was informed in no uncertain terms that I would not be welcome at Cheyenne Mountain."

"So, naturally, you just had to come visit."

Sam slaps his hand away from Teal'c's lunch tray and Baal gives her a wide-eyed "innocent" look before his customary smirk slides right back onto his face. "Naturally."

"And what is the reason why you are unwelcome?" Teal'c asks.

Baal folds his hands on the tabletop. "Apparently Richard Woolsey doesn't enjoy the occasional practical joke quite as much as others seem to."

"What did you do?" Sam asks warily.

"I sent a detonator to his home address," Baal replies, looking as if he can't quite imagine why it would be a problem.

"Oh, well. _That_ wouldn't be construed as any kind of threat."

"The return address was from his dog." Baal neatly snags a small container of ice cream from Teal'c's tray before Sam can stop him.

She shakes her head at him before offering him a spoon. "I didn't know Goa'uld even liked ice cream. Or practical jokes, for that matter."

"There's a lot you don't know about what I like," Baal says smoothly, licking the spoon even before he removes the lid on the ice cream. Sam fights a pitched battle against rolling her eyes.

Vala returns with a glass of water that's nearly as large as she is, and parks herself next to Teal'c. "So," she says brightly, looking around the table, "What did I miss?"

"Colonel Carter just consented to be my Queen," Baal says casually, digging into his ice cream.

"_Really_!"

"That is a lie," Teal'c states.

Vala tips a wink at Sam. "Well, there's hope for her yet. So, have you done anything about the creepy men spying on your Queen?"

Baal's lips twitch when Sam straightens in indignation. "As a matter of fact… I have indeed."

This time it's Sam's turn. "_Really_!"

"Indubitably."

"What exactly have you done?" Teal'c asks, setting down his corndog to show that this is Serious Business.

Baal takes his time finishing the rest of his ice cream before licking the spoon again and glancing around at his audience. "I didn't have anyone killed, if that's what you're afraid of."

"Let's just say that I asked, and… I was told," he says slyly.

"Who was it? What did you do? Baal," Sam warns.

He turns towards her, eyes bright with amusement. "Why, that would be _telling_." Baal amends the statement when she amps up her glare. "Would it suffice to say that you no longer have to worry about your own government spying upon you in your own home, and that I neither killed nor threatened to kill to achieve it?"

Sam decides she'll get it out of him later. "For now. What exactly is that wooden spoon for?"

Baal smiles and pushes his chair back. "What are most wooden spoons used for? Besides corporal punishment."

She watches him glide out the door, snapping his fingers at his harassed-looking guards, and looks over at her friends. "It is my experience that most wooden spoons are used for cooking, Samantha," Teal'c informs her.

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," Sam sighs. "Can a System Lord cook?"

"That one can't," Vala says from around another mouthful of cake.

"Great."

  
When Sam does decide to give into her curiosity and drive to the address she's been given, it's no real surprise to find that Baal lives at the top of one of the most expensive buildings in the Springs. The doorman lets her in after she brandishes that stupid spoon, and Sam gives herself a quick once-over in the mirrored elevator before the doors open on the penthouse level.

She glances around at the lushly decorated hall as she makes her way to the door, which swings open when she raps her knuckles on it. "Baal?"

"Here," his voice calls to her from somewhere in the suite, which puts even the impressive-looking hallway to shame. Sam walks in and closes the door behind her, taking in the scenery – somehow he's managed to integrate stone tiles bearing Goa'uld symbols along with Ancient runes, and… it actually doesn't look half bad.

When she turns to look at the other wall, Sam shakes her head at finding a statue of Lady Justice right behind her. "Unbelievable." She wrinkles her nose at a peculiar smell coming from what must be Baal's kitchen and follows the…. scent… through the huge suite until she comes upon Baal himself standing with folded arms, staring at the source of the smell. "What is that?"

"I have no idea," he admits. "It was intended to be food."

Sam edges closer to the stove and gives an experimental sniff. "I think it's gone far beyond the point of edibility."

Baal rubs at his goatee thoughtfully. "I'm not entirely certain there was even a point to begin with."

"What's in that pan, or do I even want to know?"

"I think it may be alive," he says, frowning at the whatever-it-is. "You might be better off not knowing."

"Vala said you didn't know how to cook."

"That's probably because I don't."

Sam starts to laugh at the absurdity of a Goa'uld chef – the sudden mental image of Julia Child with a symbiote is too ridiculous _not_ to laugh at - and Baal scowls at her. "I'm glad that one of us finds it amusing."

"Sorry," she says unrepentantly. "What did you put in there, the entire contents of your spice rack?"

Baal scratches the side of his neck. "Yes."

"I think it just moved," she says, eyeing the stove suspiciously. "I hope you deciding to cook dinner for me wasn't supposed to be impressive. Because both of you have failed miserably."

"What ever happened to the thought counting?"

Sam grins at the outrage in his voice. "If the thought hadn't also included trying to make me cook for you out of sympathy…"

He widens his eyes at her. "I don't know what you could possibly mean."

"You're terrible at playing innocent," Sam informs him, leaning back against the counter next to him. Baal's gaze moves down to her mouth, and she cranes her neck slightly as he leans in. Their lips are barely touching when the unwatched pot and its volatile contents decide to explode, and they jerk apart in surprise as the lid goes flying.

Crouching behind the island counter, they look at each other for a moment before Sam starts laughing. "Did your plan include _that?_"

Baal purses his lips. "Not exactly." He peers over the edge of the counter as if a firing squad is waiting for him. "Perhaps I should order in."

Sam peeks over, too. "Perhaps you should clean this up before you do anything else."

"_Clean?_" Baal looks thoroughly scandalized at the very thought. "I pay someone to _clean_."

"A little work never hurt anybody."

"I happen to be highly allergic to it, so that ridiculous platitude can't possibly apply to me."

Sam looks around at the immaculate (well, _previously_ immaculate) kitchen, trying to figure out where the dishtowels are kept…and then sighs at the idea that Baal would ever _wash_ dishes. "After you eat, do you simply throw out the china you've eaten from?" He looks at her with a 'what do _you_ think?' expression on his face, and she sighs again. "Fine, go order something."

"Thai?" Baal asks.

"Something spicy so I can breathe it in your face for the rest of the evening."

"Thai," he confirms, eyeballing the stove to make sure it's safe before moving from their shelter.

Sam stands up to fully survey the Disaster Formerly Known as Kitchen, flinching when the mostly-empty pot on the stove rattles ominously. Baal has disappeared into another room, so she figures that she might as well put the opportunity to good use – before she does any snooping, however, the stove needs to be turned off. Once that's accomplished, Sam opens cabinet doors and isn't that surprised to find them all empty.

Inspection of the cupboard reveals cleaning supplies, and Sam sets out a sponge along with a bottle of something called '_Shazam!_' so that she can make Baal clean up after himself. Themselves. Whatever.

The refrigerator turns out to be all that she'd hoped for. Inside are several bottles of beer, a few bottles of brightly colored liquor, containers of leftover food that have definitely seen better days, and… bologna? "Baal, Oscar Meyer is classified as meat," she declares loudly. "Well, barely. At least there's no Spam in here… or a symbiote in a jar."

"What?" he calls back.

"Never mind." Sam clears out the take-out containers, breathing through her mouth as movement stirs whatever's in them, and dumps them in the trash.

"Why did you put those down the laundry chute?" Baal asks suddenly, and she turns to find him standing in the doorway behind her.

Her eyes widen in horror, his narrow, and Sam realizes he's messing with her. "Oh, _funny_."

"We thought so." Baal saunters over to grab two beers from the fridge. "You _do_ like beer, as I recall…"

He backs Sam against a nearby counter, placing his hands on either side of her, and she's all too aware of the sound the bottles make when he sets them down and moves his hands to her waist. "Why do you have bologna in your fridge?" she asks breathlessly.

"I feed it to the fish," he murmurs back. His lips brush against hers, and Sam's fingers curl around the fabric of his polo shirt to untuck it from his trousers. "And yes, I _did_ say 'fish.'"

"Fish that like bologna? This I have to see." This last is delivered to his neck as Baal leans in to suck her earlobe between his teeth. Sam gets a handful of his hair and tugs his mouth back to hers, amused when his eyes flare in response to her assertiveness. Sliding her hands beneath his shirt Sam runs her fingers across Baal's warm, muscled skin and is rewarded by a flanged hum. She's had cause to compare the Goa'uld to one on multiple occasions, but this time he really _does_ seem like a big cat who likes being petted.

He draws away from her suddenly, smirking at her protest. "Now, now, Samantha. Save some for dessert."

"Asshole."

"I'm more than happy to oblige," Baal insinuates, his smile taking on an edge that could almost be teasing… but she knows he's not. Not _really_.

Sam rolls her eyes. "Give it a rest… and don't you dare try to say something to that," she adds hastily.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he tells her with a gleam in his eye that assures her that there's a great deal more that he's dreamt of. Baal disappears from sight once more, and she decides she'll use the time to find the infamous bologna-loving fish.

After opening a few doors and finding out Baal has a bathtub big enough for three SG teams, Sam finally finds herself in his bedroom where the fish tank is. "Piranhas. Of course," she says aloud, watching the ugly little snub-nosed fish swim around lazily. Sam watches the piranhas for a few moments more, then turns to leave before Baal takes her presence in his bedroom for encouragement. _Not_ that she's entirely averse to the idea…

Her gaze passes over the fish a final time, sharpening when she catches sight of an attachment that most certainly didn't come with the fish tank. _You've got to be kidding me_. Sam moves over to get a closer look at the wires that lead from the small device – when it's turned on, she's willing to bet that it serves the exact same purpose as the symbiote tank in the SGC infirmary. "Do you use it often?" she asks, feeling him standing behind her.

"Not often, no," the symbiote answers her.

"But sometimes you do."

The resonance of his laugh, low and intimate, makes her stomach tighten. "Sometimes." Baal holds out a hand to her. "Come eat dinner, Samantha."

"That was fast," she says, casting one last look over her shoulder at the fish tank.

"My…employees… tend to be fairly persuasive," Baal says, gallantly tucking her hand under his arm and leading her back into the hall. "Now tell me, what did you think of my bedroom?"

"Really?"

"Truly."

Sam tilts her head thoughtfully. "I'd expected more along the 'whips and chains' variety."

"I'm full of surprises."

"So you are," she says, still thinking about the tank. "So you are."

Baal stops suddenly, turning to her. "Would you like to see another one?"

Another surprise? "Sure," Sam says warily. "Just promise me that it's not a torture chamber."

He laughs again. "A promise easily kept, my dear." Baal guides her through another door, one she'd already peeked through and decided that it was some sort of office for whatever it is that Baal does with his time. He circles around the desk and opens a drawer, lifting a black box out and setting it down between them on the desk's wooden surface.

"What's in there?" Sam asks when he simply looks at her.

"The reason why I'm here, and not elsewhere."

His long fingers nudge it closer, and she opens the box. "Where did you _get_ this?" Sam asks, gingerly lifting out an object that looks exactly like something she'd first seen in Antarctica. Not to mention a certain _other_ place. "I've never seen one that small before," Sam continues. It has to be some sort of model, but where would Baal have gotten his hands on an original?

"May I?" Baal asks, extending a hand.

Sam hands over the miniature drone, her mind racing. _If he's here to steal or replicate Ancient technology, we're in trouble. But if he were here to do those things, he wouldn't tell me about them… well, he might if he knew that I've told no one where I am right now, and the surveillance has been compromised-_

"Oh, your face," he laughs. "What must you be thinking?"

"I'm thinking that you need to tell me why you're here, and that you'd better make it good," Sam says, wondering how long it'll take her to reach the purse she'd left in the kitchen.

Baal inclines his head towards her in a sort of mocking half-bow. "As my lady commands."

When he straightens, he uncurls his fingers and the tiny drone in his hand begins to glow. Sam watches as it lifts itself in the air and buzzes shrilly, darting up towards the ceiling and making a circuit around the room. "Some sort of trick," she says dismissively to disguise the way her heart has started to pound.

Baal glances up at the tiny ball of light, and it returns to hover just above his palm obediently. "No trick, Samantha."

"It's not possible," Sam insists. "A Goa'uld can't-"

Baal's eyes flare with white-gold light, and the drone drops lifelessly back into his palm. "That much is certainly correct. However…" his eyes refocus, and the drone buzzes back to 'life' as she watches wide-eyed. "However, _I_ can."

"It's a _trick_," she repeats stubbornly.

"Is it?" the symbiote asks, the drone falling into his hand. "Mister Woolsey has offered to provide me with accommodations at Area 51; perhaps I should take him up on that, considering what else is accommodated there."

Sam's had enough. "If that's your idea of a threat, it's not a very good one. Good_night_." Baal watches her go, calculation in his eyes.

She's at the checkpoint of Cheyenne Mountain before she realizes that's where she's been driving, and barely swallows hysterical laughter when the guard asks her how she's doing this evening. "I'm fine, thank you."

By the time Sam gets to her lab, she's almost convinced herself that Baal was simply pulling her leg. She pulls up the base's medical files and finds the analysis Carolyn had done on the small blood sample that he'd allowed her to take before his request for asylum on Earth was considered.

The Ancient gene won't show up on a normal blood screening, because no Goa'uld would ever be suspected of having it; it's considered impossible for a very good reason. The ATA gene won't present itself unless specifically searched for, and Sam takes a deep breath before typing out a query. The computer begins its search and she goes to get a cup of coffee from the commissary, trying not to think of the possibility of a positive result.

She exchanges pleasantries with Sergeant Siler on her way back, already planning out what she'll eat for a late dinner when she gets home, and runs her card through the reader outside the lab. The door unlocks, she pushes through, and her coffee mug slips through her nerveless fingers as Sam gets her first look at the results on the screen.

"_Shit._"

  


_   
****The Mating Game 8/10:** Contact High**   
_

_tbc_

________________________________________

_______

  



	9. </strong> Is This A Riot, Or Are You Just Pleased To See Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: Sam gets the opportunity for more alone time with Baal's host

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Current music:**

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Pet Shop Boys - _Pandemonium_  
  
  
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**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[baal](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal), [baal/sam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal/sam), [baam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baam), [fic](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [sam carter](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/sam%20carter), [stargate:sg1](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/stargate:sg1), [the mating game](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/the%20mating%20game)  
  
  
**Series:** The Mating Game  
**Title:** Is This A Riot, Or Are You Just Pleased To See Me?  
**Author:** [](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladytalon1**](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/)  
**Fandom:** Stargate: SG-1  
**Pairing/Characters:** Baal/Sam  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not making any $$  
**Summary:** AU: Sam gets the opportunity for more alone time with Baal's host  
**Word Count:** 2,872  
**A/N:** For the [](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/profile)[**10_dates**](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/) prompt: _Birthday_

  


The doorman doesn't seem at all surprised to see Sam back at one o'clock in the morning; he simply holds the door open deferentially. "Shall I announce you, Colonel?"

"I think he's expecting me," she says drily. "Thanks anyway."

Once again, Sam finds the door unlocked and walks right in – given what she now knows about him, the Goa'uld and Ancient tiles on the wall don't look out of place at all. Lady Justice seems to be smirking at her. "Don't look at me like that," she mutters.

She finds Baal sitting cross-legged in the middle of his huge bed, reading the Wall Street Journal. "Welcome back," he says without looking up at her. "The food's gone cold."

"You didn't eat?"

Baal spreads the paper across his knees and raises his eyes from the Markets page. "Is there something I can help you with, or were you simply concerned about my digestion?"

"Your digestion," Sam says sarcastically, leaning against the doorframe. "And I want to know what your intentions really are, once and for all. Convince me that you're not a threat to Earth, and I _won't_ have you hauled off to Area 51 at 0800 hours so you can spend your next few birthdays locked up in a basement somewhere."

He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Isn't that where the Chair was taken?"

"Baal," she warns.

"I've been nothing but helpful and courteous" he ignores her snort "and you've continuously treated me with suspicion." Baal runs a palm over the creases in his newspaper, still watching her. "You keep asking and the threats don't have much variety, either. But seeing as my other self is currently indisposed, I suppose I might as well satisfy that insatiable curiosity of yours."

_Indisposed?_ Sam glances towards the aquarium automatically, doing a double take when she realizes that the Goa'uld symbiote is indeed inside it, and chasing after the piranhas which scatter in panic whenever it approaches.

"He thought I'd have a better chance of convincing you if he weren't present," Baal continues. "Was he correct?"

"That's not a clone?"

"Well, technically speaking…"

Sam walks up to the fish tank, bending down to tap on the glass. The symbiote – Baal – immediately breaks off his pursuit of the piranhas and swims over to her, the silvery-blue fins fanning out in what seems oddly like a wave 'hello'. Baal's tail thumps up against the glass on the other side of her fingertips still resting against the tank, then he turns back and resumes terrorizing the fish. "I've never seen anything like that," Sam admits, smiling at the near-playful antics of the symbiote.

"He won't eat any of them if you're here," Host Baal assures her. Sam turns back to find him lounging back on his elbows, amused at her reaction. "Now, what would you like to know? It's getting perilously close to my bedtime."

"Oh, do hosts have a curfew?" she teases.

"No, but some of us do require a certain amount of rest."

"Okay, then." Sam puts her back against the wall and slides down until she's seated comfortably on the floor. "First question."

"Why are we here?" Baal asks mockingly, rolling over to the side of the bed and pillowing his head on his arms. "Neither of use is particularly interested in being disposed of once we've served our purpose."

Sam raises her eyebrows, prompting. "Which is…?"

"Which is – was – for one of use to gain control of the weapons platform that destroyed Anubis' fleet."

She leans forward curiously. "'Was'? Why was the plan abandoned?"

Baal shifts on the bed lazily, making himself more comfortable before answering her. "Only the host has the ability to utilize the ATA gene and there is - how do you say it here? 'No backseat driving allowed.'"

"He doesn't seem to mind," Sam points out, glancing up at the aquarium.

"We have an understanding," he says. "Which is how it used to be in the beginning, but two thousand years tend to make some individuals a bit more paranoid than others, especially when there's power to be shared or parceled out."

Sam wraps her arms around her legs, sitting up straight. "You've told me before that the Blending wasn't forced."

"I saw the advantages of becoming a host."

Steering the conversation back to the subject of the original Baal's plan for the Ancient weapon platform and ignoring the tempting display he's putting on for her benefit, Sam learns that many of the clones found dead in that tent were candidates for gene therapy; the clone she's with now is one of several successes. He doesn't _quite_ come out and say it, but Sam strongly suspects that he's the only one who's completely mastered the use of Ancient technology by finding a middle ground with his symbiote.

"Are you still here to gain access to Area 51?" Sam asks carefully.

Baal lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I meant what I said to that irritating bald man from the IOA – I like it here. _We_ like it here. So if it becomes necessary, yes. He will know that I'm here. He will _not_ like that I'm here."

Sam doesn't have to ask who 'he' is. "You've made Earth into a target by coming here."

"Samantha. It's been a target for quite some time," Baal says witheringly. "My presence changes nothing except for the fact that I can provide a great deal more protection to this planet than would be possible otherwise."

She has to grin at his pomposity. "Are you _sure_ that's him in there with the fish?"

Baal smiles in response. "Constant association can cause personalities as well as habits to merge."

"I won't say anything about dogs and their owners," Sam promises, "Even though I could."

"That would be a wise decision," he says, giving her a mock-glare.

She laughs, leaning her head back against the wall. "One last question, then, Mister Pomposity. You say that both of you like it here, and that you more or less intend to provide Earth with protection against… well, against yourself. What does _he_ get out of this besides a place to stay?"

"A System Lord needs a system to be lord of," Baal says seriously, pushing himself up on an elbow. "This one will do nicely."

"You have to be insane if you really think that we're going to let you-"

His laugh cuts short her outraged reply. "We've already laid claim to this planet, Samantha. The rest of our dear brothers know that Earth is under our" he gestures to the tank "exclusive protection."

"System Lords have a nasty little habit of subjugating-"

"My dearest Colonel, the only person I'm in danger of 'subjugating' would be that irritating Richard Woolsey. And I'm quite sure that everyone in this planet's government would actually applaud the effort."

Sam narrows her eyes at him. "First of all, stop interrupting me." Baal sits up and presses his palms together, bowing towards her in a parody of contrition. "Secondly, how exactly do you _lay claim_ to a planet on which you're barely tolerated? You – and by 'you' I mean him, too – don't have enough power to keep all of your stock options, let alone take over Earth."

Baal gives her a sly smile. "Gods work in mysterious ways, Samantha. Besides, we've never had any real intention of upholding our claim by _subjugating_ anyone – that's far too much work. It's much easier to claim credit and sit back without actually having to do anything… wouldn't you agree?"

"So you get the status and the acclaim of being System Lord of Earth by sheer laziness."

"There you go," Baal says encouragingly.

Sam tilts her head at him. "Goa'uld are also notorious for being power hungry. Don't tell me _that_ little trait didn't sneak through the cloning process."

"On this planet, those who have power are those who have money."

"Let me guess, you have plenty of that?"

"'Plenty' isn't precisely the term we would use, but it's close enough." His smile widens. "And speaking of _plenty_, there is a disconcerting amount of Thai food in my kitchen."

Baal gets to his feet gracefully and offers her a hand up; Sam casts a backward glance at the aquarium as they leave the room. "So I guess you didn't eat after all – are you just going to leave him in there?"

"Yes, and yes."

"Do you even know how to reheat the leftovers?"

"Re_heat_ them?" He looks at her as if she's grown a third eye.

Sam reminds herself that, despite the fact that he's essentially the smartest being on the planet, she's still dating the ultimate bachelor. "Oh, boy." After she shows him how to operate the microwave (the host, at least, seems to have no problem doing things for himself), they adjourn to the living room where he demonstrates his prowess with chopsticks – mostly by stealing the food from _her_ chopsticks as it's almost to her mouth.

Sam retaliates by ensuring the next bit he steals is pure wasabi and, after Baal has a coughing fit that lasts over five minutes, he promises to let her eat in peace. The truce expires ten seconds later when he slurps his noodles so loudly that she almost spits hers out laughing. "Stop it," she warns, threatening him with her chopsticks.

Baal leans in and closes his teeth over them, pulling them from her fingers and spitting them out on the carpet before hauling her into his lap. "You're still deciding whether or not you can trust us."

She'd have to be a complete idiot if she weren't, Sam thinks to herself even as her arms creep around his neck. "I think you – both of you - know better than most people that's it's not smart to make a fool of me. I also think that I'll have to speak to General Landry."

"I thought you were on first-name basis with Mister Woolsey," he says mischievously. "Wouldn't you rather…?"

"No, thank you," Sam tells him. When she informs Landry of this newest development, the General will likely have Baal undergo more tests as well as extensive questioning by way of the za'tarc detector. She traces the curve of his ear with her index finger to change the subject. "But while you're asking what I'd _rather_…"

"Oh, good." Baal tumbles her onto the carpet, leering down at her. "I was hoping you'd say that."

His hands (and mouth) seem to be everywhere at once, and Sam slides her fingers through his short hair in encouragement before catching a glimpse of Lady Justice's reflection in one of the large mirrors on the wall. "Not here."

"It's a statue," Baal protests when he realizes what the problem is, "And it's _blindfolded_."

Sam looks at him. "I doubt the living room floor was what you had in mind for this exact moment."

"Point taken," he says wryly, and helps her up. They make it as far as the doorway before Sam presses him against the wall for another kiss, and clothing begins to litter the hall as they make their way to the nearest open door. "I believe that this is when I'm supposed to ask you if you brought protection," Baal teases as she tugs at the waistband of his trousers.

Sam bats her eyelashes at him theatrically. "Does my gun count? Take off your pants."

"Anything to oblige a lady."

"Oh, _very_ nice… wait, is he watching us from the fishtank?"

"Just 'very' nice?"

"No, look! His little fins are pressed right up against the glass. We should probably cover him-_mmmm_… do that again…"

It's not always a bad thing when your lover has had over two thousand years to perfect his technique, Sam thinks later as they're both sprawled amongst the tangled sheets. She rolls her head over to look at Baal; he's lying on his stomach with his eyes closed looking tired and very, very sated. Something tells her that she looks the exact same way. Very nice _indeed_, she repeats to herself as she looks the other way at the aquarium.

The piranhas are down to two, and the symbiote is still cruising around in there without a care in the galaxy. "So what's going to happen once he's out of there?" she asks the man next to her.

Baal's eyes open, and he shifts onto his side to look at her. "Why, then we take over the world."

"You're a born comedian," Sam assures him.

"Would you like me to retrieve him?" he asks with a slow smile. "He'll be jealous."

_Oh, good Lord_. "I thought both of you had grown up from your little pissing contest," Sam yawns, fumbling for the coverlet. Baal locates it, flipping it over them, and Sam yawns again as she burrows beneath his outstretched arm. His skin is warm beneath her cheek and against the length of her body – she starts to drift off as she feels Baal stroking her hair.

He murmurs that he has to tell her something important; she _hmmm_s out a query. Sam's expecting it to be along the lines of a declaration of deep, abiding affection and giggles herself to sleep when Baal informs her that her breath has been intolerable ever since dinner.

The next time she opens her eyes, it's mid-morning and the previous night's enthusiasm has fully translated itself into soreness. She sits up, dislodging Baal's arm from around her waist, and pulls on the nearest piece of clothing to hand while he watches her from beneath his lashes.

When Sam emerges from the bathroom she finds Baal sitting cross-legged on the bed, still mother-naked, and frowning down at a sphere cradled in his palms. He glances up at her entrance and the Goa'uld long range communication device goes blank. "What's going on?"

He glances over at the aquarium – all of the piranhas have disappeared by now – and back at her. "It won't work for me alone." Baal sets it upon the bed, and surveys her interestedly. "You look quite nice wearing my clothing."

"You look better when you're _not_ wearing it," Sam smiles, cocking her head to the side and returning the appraisal by admiring his physique. "I'm going to take a shower."

"I hereby volunteer my services as bath attendant."

They're in the shower when Sam glances over her shoulder at him. "Why were you even trying to use that thing in the first place?"

"Oh," Baal says dismissively, "I've made a habit of experimenting with different pieces of Goa'uld technology when he's elsewhere. And speaking of him being _elsewhere_…" He pulls her back against him, running his hands over her body and effectively distracting her from asking any more questions.

After what has to be the longest 'shower' she's ever taken, Sam's perched on the edge of the bed buttoning up one of Baal's shirts and watching him get dressed. "How does the process work – do you just stick your head in the tank?"

"Yes, and it's great fun to do so when the tank is full of piranhas," Baal deadpans, walking over to the aquarium and picking up a small device.

Sam leans forward, fascinated at the fact that the host isn't the only one who's had a microchip embedded. "So you just beam him in and out of there." A part of her is already wondering if she can find a way to get the microchip's signature and isolate the symbiote if things go south. _My my; how calculating of you, Samantha_.

Baal gazes at her as if he knows exactly what she's thinking. "I can, yes." He shoots her another 'don't even think about it' look before his thumb presses down on the beaming device. Sam watches the light gather and flare from behind his pupils, and does her best not to smile at the look on his face when his eyes focus upon her. "_Twice?_"

"You were indisposed," she says sweetly. "And I have to go."

He inclines his head towards her. "Since it _appears_ that you hired a taxi to return here, shall I have another called or would you rather be returned to your home immediately?"

"My neighbors would definitely think something was up if I suddenly appeared out of thin air on my doorstep," Sam says.

"When I spoke of returning you to your home, I made no mention of you materializing outside," Baal tells her, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes as he watches her realize that he's placed a transmitter somewhere in her house. That he's been _inside_ her house… and that he's hoping that this realization stops her from teasing him about being jealous.

Sam rises from the bed and walks over to him, watching his eyelids flicker slightly. "If you wouldn't mind putting me back in my living room, I'd appreciate it."

Baal glances down at the device still in his hand, and she leans in quickly to kiss him – them – farewell just before she feels the disorienting pull of the Asgard beam take her from a System Lord's bedroom to her own.

She's still wearing his shirt when her phone rings, and she picks it up to find that someone has stolen the Chair from Area 51.

_   
****The Mating Game 9/10:** Is This A Riot, Or Are You Just Pleased To See Me?**   
_

_tbc_

________________________________________

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[Table](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/355373.html#cutid1)


	10. </strong> A Goa'uld's Best Friend (Part 1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU - Operation: Chair Retrieval gets underway, with one less-than-willing participant.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Current music:**

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One eskimO - _Amazing_  
  
  
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**Entry tags:**

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[baal](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal), [baal/sam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baal/sam), [baam](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/baam), [cam mitchell](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/cam%20mitchell), [fic](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [sam carter](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/sam%20carter), [stargate:sg1](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/stargate:sg1), [the mating game](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/the%20mating%20game)  
  
  
**Series:** The Mating Game  
**Title:** A Goa'uld's Best Friend (Part 1/2)  
**Author:** [](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladytalon1**](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/)  
**Fandom:** Stargate: SG-1  
**Pairing/Characters:** Baal/Sam  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not making any $$  
**Summary:** AU - Operation: Chair Retrieval gets underway, with one less-than-willing participant.  
**Word Count:** 3,965  
**A/N:** For the [](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/profile)[**10_dates**](http://community.livejournal.com/10_dates/) prompt: _Sex_. This chapter just keeps getting longer, so I'm splitting it into two parts.

  


  
It's been determined that the Chair was taken sometime after midnight, when a security guard (who really should have known better) went on an extended coffee break. Landry finishes the briefing by asking Cam and Sam to sit in on the Q&amp;A session he's arranged with Baal, and the two friends exchange glances as Paul Davis calls the General over to review the guard's testimony one more time.

"Think he did it?" Cam asks her casually.

"He could be _behind_ it, certainly," is all Sam will say in response, ignoring his mutter about how Baal had better have a damn good alibi.

They're all seated in one of the interrogation rooms with – of all people – Agent Barrett, and the rest of SG-1 is up on the observation deck when Baal arrives. Accustomed as they are seeing him sweep into a room looking as if he's just stepped off the cover of _GQ_, no one quite expects to see him sweep into _this_ particular room dressed like a rather elegant Goa'uld version of Mad Max; Sam's never seen this amount of black leather on anyone.

Baal flicks his cloak over an arm and seats himself, crossing one leg over the other leisurely before inspecting each of his 'interviewers.' His gaze passes over General Landry and Cam, rests briefly on Sam, and then moves on to Malcolm Barrett where it stays until the NID Agent is clearly ready to vault the table. Then he steeples his fingers together and looks back to Landry. "How _may_ I be of service."

"Where were you this morning?"

"Define _morning_."

"The time between midnight and noon," Barrett interrupts. "Earth time."

Baal looks at Sam, a smile playing about the corners of his mouth. "I was at home, and then I wasn't."

"Just tell us where you were and what you were doing, and when you were doing it," Cam says exasperatedly.

Sam stares at Baal as he tilts his head with that infuriating smile. "Did you take the Chair?"

He leans back in his chair as if it's a throne. "Yes."

The other men start in surprise to the admission of guilt – even Barrett looks flummoxed that it was this easy – but Sam stays frozen in position as the SF's are called in to take Baal to a cell. The words are out before she has time to think them through, and once they're out it's too late to take them back. "No, he didn't."

"Excuse me, Colonel?" Landry turns towards her, eyebrows nearly climbing off his face.

Sam takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it out. "He didn't take it, General."

"What're you talking about, Sam?" Barrett asks suspiciously. "How could you know that for sure?"

Glancing over at Baal shows that he's laced his fingers together and is listening with a show of great interest. "I know that he didn't take it because I was with him at the time the Chair was stolen."

Cam drops his head into his hands, Barrett's jaw nearly hits the floor, and General Landry… blinks. "Excuse me, Colonel?" he says for the second time in as many minutes.

Raising her chin stubbornly and refusing to look up at the observation deck where Vala is most likely in raptures, Sam calmly repeats herself and fixes Baal with a quelling stare before asking the most obvious question… she realizes (a little too late) that he'd meant for her to spring to his defense and air a truth that would have been immediately discounted had he said it first. _Maneuvering me into doing the dirty work for him. Typical_. "When you said that you took the Chair, to which 'you' were you referring?"

"Why, to the one who is bringing his fleet to challenge my claim to this planet," Baal says, the very picture of wide-eyed innocence. "Oh dear, didn't I mention the ha'tak currently cloaked in orbit?"

A sudden picture of Baal looking into the long-distance communication device enters her mind, and she realizes that he must have been able to operate it after all. _I'll give **you** 'oh dear,' you sneaky_\- "No, you must have forgotten to pass on that little tidbit of gossip," Sam snarls at him as the others begin to put in their thoughts – loudly and all at once - about this latest development.

Baal leans back in his chair to watch the show, fiddling with a vambrace and seeming particularly amused at Barrett's insistence upon having him thrown in the deepest, darkest cell there is. Sam pinches the bridge of her nose as the agent, whom she'd previously considered as a potential romantic interest, begins to accuse the Goa'uld of 'subverting' her loyalty.

"If I present such a danger to you, it might indeed be wise to incarcerate me," Baal says smoothly, eyes locked on Barrett's face, "But _do_ tell me you'll come to visit once in a while – you could even bring your handgun. Again."

That does it; Agent Barrett goes over the table before anyone can stop him, and Baal uses the force of the man's lunge against him to fling Barrett up and over his head. It's done so casually, he never even leaves his chair.

Sam resists the urge to clap both hands to her face in dismay as Baal is 'escorted' to the nearest holding cell until they decide what to do with him. Of course the only place they _can_ take him is the one place he's clearly planning on going anyway, so she's not surprised when it's announced that he'll be shipped off to Area 51.

Landry calls her onto the carpet immediately after the decision is made, and Sam stands ramrod-straight as the General demands an accounting of her actions. It's far too late to head him off at the pass by explaining everything that she'd talked about with Baal just the previous night, so she does the best she can. Someone's called Woolsey in and Sam has to repeat everything she's already told General Landry… she skirts the issue of 'physical intimacy' as best she can, disliking the emphasis Woolsey is trying to put on it. She's somewhat gratified to see how uncomfortable it's making Landry, and slides in a pointed question about whether Cam might be questioned in this manner had he been in her situation; there's nothing more Woolsey can say without giving her ammunition for a charge of sexual discrimination.

When she's finally dismissed Sam makes a conscious decision not to tell Vala off for pressing her face up against the Gate map, making a circle of her thumb and forefinger while shoving her other forefinger through it suggestively, and giving her a thumbs up. "There was spanking, wasn't there? I told you so," her friend declares, throwing a companionable arm around Sam's shoulders as they head to the locker room.

They throw out a few loitering males in order to turn it into the 'women's locker room' and over the shower partition Sam tells Vala exactly what had happened in Landry's office. "I think Baal pulled that stunt with Malcolm Barrett on purpose; he wants to be sent to Area 51 for some reason."

Vala makes a moue with her lips as she steps from the shower and wraps a towel around herself. "That doesn't make a lot of sense, but then again he was always doing something or other that made no sense at all… it usually ended up with him coming out ahead of the other System Lords in some way, though," she says thoughtfully. "Why would he want to go there if the Chair isn't there anymore? Is there some other Ancient thing he'd like to steal?"

"Not that I know of… there's still one of those Ancient communication terminals, but no one has ever figured out how to turn one off without destroying it," Sam muses.

Vala shudders, obviously thinking about her experience with one of the devices. "I don't think that _anyone_ would want to take one of those… and I also don't think you told me about sleeping with Baal," she grins. "How was it?"

"Not something I'm going to talk about."

"So you _did_ sleep with him!"

They get dressed and move out in the hall; Vala's now moved on to the topic of Barrett's 'obvious' jealousy and what might happen if the two men (and symbiote) were in a cage match. "Just imagine; both of them naked, sweaty, and battling for your affections!"

"There's a visual that just might put me off of eating for – I dunno - _the rest of my life_," Cam interrupts from behind them. "They're shipping your bad boy off to Area 51 in the morning, Sam – we're tagging along to make sure he doesn't cause trouble on the way to Peterson, and then we'll be hitching a ride on the _Odyssey_."

"To see if we can find the Chair from an atmospheric scan," Sam realizes. "But what if it's somewhere shielded?"

Cam shrugs as he heads off to the reclaimed men's locker room. "Cross that bridge when we get to it."

Teal'c comes up to them in time to hear Cam's last remark. "What bridge will we be crossing, Samantha Carter?"

"I'll tell you later," she promises.

In the morning Sam learns that Baal had put up such a fuss about being ordered to put on the standard-issue grey prisoner uniform, he was allowed to keep the clothing he came in with on the condition that he submit to a search. Of course, they can't transport him in his System Lord 'outfit' so he'll have to be forced into wearing the jumpsuit whether he wants to put it on or not.

She goes with Daniel to inform their guest about the requirement, and finds him sitting on the edge of the military-issue cot. Sam takes a deep breath as she tries not to remember when she'd last seen him on the edge of a bed, and from the smirk that appears on his face Baal knows exactly what she's not thinking about. "Colonel Carter, how nice of you to visit me," he says silkily. "I doubt you're here to rescue me from a life of imprisonment."

"I doubt that, too."

"Perhaps you're here to do another body search," Baal suggests. "In that case, you should be warned that there's a camera in the corner of the room. My privacy is being rather shockingly disregarded, and I really must protest."

Sam reminds him that he's given up the right to protest about anything. "You need to put on a jumpsuit before we take you to Area 51."

Baal makes a show of casting his eyes towards the ceiling and rubbing at his goatee thoughtfully, before looking back at her. "No."

"I know you want to go there, and the only way you're going anywhere is if you change your clothes."

"And what, _exactly_, is going to happen if I don't agree?" Baal asks, getting to his feet and walking towards her. "If transport has already been arranged, plans for taking me from Cheyenne Mountain won't be discarded simply because I am not wearing the proper attire."

Staring back into his eyes, Sam refuses to back away as he invades her space. From the rustle of cloth coming from the doorway, the SFs standing there are trying their hand at intimidation but Baal doesn't even glance their way. "If you don't put on that jumpsuit, then someone will come in here and put it on you – when that happens, the only real choice you'll have left is whether or not you'd like to be conscious."

Baal laughs and, ignoring the muted rattle of P-90s being raised to point at him, reaches out and strokes his index finger along Sam's jaw. "You make it sound unbearably exciting."

"And you make yourself sound psychotic," she says tartly, stepping back just as his finger brushes her throat. "You leave in four hours."

He makes an amused sound in the back of his throat as Sam turns and walks out the door. Daniel's there waiting for her, and she's relieved to discover that all he wants to know is if she has time to cross-check something with him. When Sam demands to know if he's going to rake her over the coals for whatever relationship everyone else thinks she has with Baal, all her friend does is blink at her and push up his glasses. "It's none of my business – if you feel like you need to talk about it, though, go ahead."

"I'd rather not," she decides.

"Then let's start at this" Daniel points "line of symbols."

It turns out to be the most pleasant part of the day. When their time is up, Cam hangs in the doorway and clears his throat loudly. "Let's go, kids – we've got a snake to babysit."

Sam's not that surprised to learn that Baal has steadfastly refused to put on the prisoner-issue uniform and the threat she'd delivered has come to pass. "He put up a fight, but it was three to one," Vala tells them as they gear up. "Even threw the towel we gave him to shave with over the camera."

"Shave?" Daniel asks, glancing up from tightening his flak jacket.

Vala shrugs. "He asked for a shaving kit; Landry said there was no reason to tell him no – besides, we _all_ know how vain the man is," she says, making them smile by snapping open a compact and checking her lipstick. Even Teal'c looks distinctly amused as they head down to the parking level where their transport awaits them. "I still don't understand why we couldn't just get zapped up to the _Odyssey_ from here," Vala says as they climb into the back of the truck.

Sam glances over her shoulder at the other truck, where Baal is. "After we had about thirty clones bypass the shielding, there were additional measures put in place to ensure that no one gets in _or_ out of the mountain without permission… disabling it takes some doing, so it's easier just to drive," she explains.

Settling against the side of the bench seat, Sam watches as Cam pulls a deck of cards from his hip pocket and shows Teal'c how to play Go Fish. She's pretty sure the Jaffa knows exactly how to play it and that he's just humoring the other man, but decides not to ask since Cam's having such a good time playing Teacher.

Vala and Daniel are arguing about something, and that's really nothing new, so she contents herself with watching the road over the driver's shoulder… and slowly comes to the realization that, even though Baal is in the other truck ahead of them, she can still _feel_ him. Sam blinks in confusion, wondering how that can possibly be the case – the naquidah buzz of him is strong enough, it's as though he's in the same truck with them.

Sam opens her mouth to ask the driver to signal the lead truck to pull over, when she notices that the birthmark on the man's right earlobe is in the exact same place as Baal's… then she glances up at the rearview mirror to meet the driver's eyes. "How the hell…?"

"Is there a problem, Colonel?" the SF in the passenger seat asks, having no idea that he's sitting next to a Goa'uld.

Baal looks at her in the mirror, eyes bright and amused. "I was just wondering who your friend was. What's your name, Airman?" Sam challenges.

"Bill Carter," Baal says with a straight face and without a trace of his accent. "Strange how we have the same last name, Colonel."

"Oh, it's strange all right," Sam agrees. "But what I'd really like to know is why _you're_ driving us instead of Airman Stevens."

Baal glances over his shoulder at her and she can see that he's not only shaved off his goatee but a good deal of his hair is missing, too. "Just lucky, I guess. Stevens had a headache."

"I bet he did," Sam says sourly, wondering how she's possibly going to ask Baal what the hell he's doing without making him steer the truck down the embankment or through the median into oncoming traffic.

Maybe if she can alert Teal'c…but Baal is already shaking his head at her. "That would be a bad idea."

"What?" the other SF asks.

Baal points to a billboard urging them to 'Give Your Heart To Jesus!' and when the man turns to look, reaches back to curl his fingers around Sam's wrist. They beam away leaving the SF to lunge for the steering wheel and the rest of SG-1 bewildered by their comrade's sudden disappearance.

They rematerialize in the hangar bay of a ha'tak – the same ha'tak that Baal taunted the others with, most likely - and Sam yanks her arm out of Baal's grip, fully intent upon committing assault and battery. "What the hell are you doing?"

Baal intercepts her fist before it can break his nose. "_We_ are going to find the Chair."

"I thought you said that you didn't steal it," Sam points out, still tempted to beat him into next week. "And what about your little act this morning about not being able to make that communication orb work."

He gives her a condescending look. "Just because the particular physical manifestation of 'me' that stands before you wasn't present doesn't mean that I can't find it. And my host told you nothing but the truth this morning… he simply didn't specify _what_ doesn't work for him when we are not Joined."

"So I have no right to be angry at the moment because it's my fault that my questions weren't more thorough," she says sarcastically.

"Exactly." Baal looks so pleased that she's _finally_ caught on to his reasoning that the urge to hit him is stronger than ever… and Sam has no intention of suppressing that urge. Five seconds later, he's flat on his back with one hand clapped to his face. "What was that for?" he asks crossly, struggling to a sitting position and gingerly touching his broken nose.

Sam rubs at her sore knuckles. "You were asking for it." She reaches out to give him a hand up, which results in Baal vindictively yanking her down on the deck plating just as he stands up. "Hey!"

Baal ignores her and moves to the ha'tak's main console, sliding his hand under the glasslike panel to rest his palm over the red orb and doing… something. Sam's never quite worked out how to use the propulsion systems in Goa'uld ships since she doesn't have enough naquidah in her blood. "What are you doing?"

"Browsing the internet," he tosses over his shoulder, smiling to see her scowl deepen. "Are you ready to retrieve the Chair, or aren't you?"

Sam comes up beside him, peering down at the symbols playing over the 'glass.' "Those are the coordinates for Area 51." She forbears to ask why they're beaming there instead of wherever the Chair actually is, but Baal smirks and reminds her that _his_ operatives have had plenty of time to come into contact with it. "Just like one of you did with the Gates that were stolen," Sam realizes.

"There's hope for you after all. Let's go," Baal says, pulling his hand from the console's opening and offering it to her. Sam takes it despite herself, and they materialize in a section of Area 51 that General Landry would recognize as the room that briefly accommodated the cupcake-loving Nerus. It's apparently now used as a storage area, and she keeps an eye on the door as Baal moves purposefully towards one of the decidedly mundane-looking filing cabinets that line the walls.

She's still wondering just what the hell she's doing sneaking around a high security area without clearance, and with an on-the-lam System Lord. "I don't like this," Sam announces, just to make sure he knows her feelings about this entire escapade.

Baal forces a drawer open, tossing aside the fragments of the locking mechanism. "Don't tell me you're distressed because we didn't ask politely before coming here," he says absently. "Your moral code is a source of ceaseless amusement, Samantha."

"You should try updating your own set of morals," Sam points out. "Have you found the whatever-it-is yet?"

"Don't sulk, it's unbecoming of a lady." Baal turns back around holding an Ancient communications device and apparently just remembers that he's still wearing an Air Force uniform because he removes his hat and drops it on the ground contemptuously. Sam's still having a hard time wrapping her mind around the fact that he's shaved his goatee off and given himself a buzz cut, but he's still one of the most handsome men she's ever seen. Not that she cares about that at the moment, since she's still mad at him.

Firmly suppressing a surprisingly strong desire to rub a hand over the stubble on his head, Sam jerks her head at the door. "Anything else you'd like to steal before we leave?"

"For some reason I'm having misgivings at having brought you along," Baal says, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Oh, please. We both know I'm here because you want another chance to get me into bed – now are we going, or not?"

Baal crosses the room, pulling her against his body as they beam back to the ha'tak. She's not sure whether or not she should be flattered that he can't seem to pass up an opportunity to come onto her, even in a situation like this, but she twists away from him as soon as they materialize in the pel'tak of the Goa'uld mothership. "Suit yourself," he shrugs as if he can't care less.

"We don't really have time for you to be jealous," Sam reminds him. "What's the plan for getting the Chair back?"

"I use this" Baal holds up the communications device "to see where it is."

Sam frowns, remembering the times when SG-1 had used them. "We've never been able to 'disconnect' from those once they're activated," she says. "I don't think it's such a good idea."

Baal cocks his head. "What's that? _You've_ never been able? My darling Samantha, please name one of the main differences between you and I."

"You're a lot more irritating than I am? You're high maintenance? I don't refer to myself as a God?"

"I said _one_ thing."

"You have a penis?"

"That's a good one. I wasn't aware that Tau'ri were far enough up the evolutionary ladder to have such a highly developed sense of humor," Baal sniffs as he arranges himself on the huge throne behind the navigation console and slides the Ancient device into the left arm of it.

Sam folds her arms and watches closely as he relaxes against the uncomfortable-looking black marble, wondering who he's displacing, but she's surprised when Baal sits up a moment later and deactivates the communicator. "That's it? You're still you?"

"Were you expecting someone taller?" Baal pushes off from the throne, flipping the communicator through the air at her. "The reason those never worked properly for anyone else is because their ATA gene isn't strong enough," he says offhandedly. "That and they were undoubtedly so inept, they were unable to inhabit the consciousness of their target without effecting a fully realized 'switch.'"

"He doesn't like that you just explained that to me, does he?"

"Not especially, no. He's still upset about last night," Baal confesses with the barest hint of a grin. "One of the others has the Chair on a nearby planet, so shall we retrieve it?"

Sam agrees that they shall. And somehow, she's not surprised at all when Baal insists upon changing back into his Mad Max outfit before they go anywhere.

_   
****The Mating Game 10/10 (Part 1/2):** A Goa'uld's Best Friend**   
_

_tbc_

________________________________________

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[Table](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/355373.html#cutid1)

[Part 2/2](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/109211.html#cutid1)


	11. Citizen of the Planet (Part 2/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU - Sam makes First Prime, and Baal gets naked to help save Earth.

  
"How many of you _are_ there?" Sam asks, peering down at the multitude of Baal clones swarming around the landing site of an al'kesh. She glances over at her own Baal to find him sitting on his heels and fiddling with something that looks like a saltshaker.

He looks up at her, then through the trees at his brethren. "Oh, we don't count. It's a bit like asking a Tau'ri female how old she is."

"You're a riot."

"A God must do His best," he says modestly before handing her the saltshaker. "Your subdermal beacon is transmitting again, so I trust that it won't be long before the rest of SG-1 comes galloping to the rescue. This is attuned to your signal, and will jam it if activated."

Sam taps a finger over a depression in the smooth metal surface, and Baal nods in confirmation. Since the other clones have obviously long since removed any kind of tracking devices from the Chair itself, it's up to them to attach another. Mentally calculating the arrival of the _Odyssey_ and the time it would take for the computer to get a lock on her locator beacon, she looks over at Baal again. "How long will it take to get in and out of there?" Sam asks, lifting her chin towards the al'kesh.

"That depends upon your performance," Baal says, withdrawing another item from the bag he'd taken with them from the ha'tak. "How would you like to be my First Prime?"

Sam holds up the piece of gold-colored plastic, molded into the shape of Baal's insignia. "You have finally succeeded in losing your mind. _Me_ as your First Prime? Wearing a piece of plastic?"

"The best place to hide is out in the open," Baal reminds her. "And plastic seemed a more suitable option rather than slicing open your forehead and pouring molten gold inside the wound."

"Point taken." It _is_ the last thing they will expect, so Sam accepts. "I suppose everyone down there is just going to ignore the fact that your First Prime is wearing an Air Force uniform?"

Baal taps the bag meaningfully. "The glue will need time to set, so come closer – we've wasted enough time as it is." His expression clearly states that _she's_ the one who's been wasting it and she's ready to knock him on his ass again, but Sam quells the impulse and wonders if they really have a shot at pulling this whole thing off as Baal attaches the symbol to her forehead. "What's going to happen to you after we put the locator beacon on the Chair and I beam out with it?" she asks suddenly.

He arches an eyebrow at her. "You care? How touching – one of us just might burst into tears."

"You're making it pretty hard to feel sympathy for either of you," Sam informs him drily. "Hand over the clothes so I can get changed."

Of course Baal would have had this skintight leather outfit made to match his, she thinks as she pulls it out of the bag. Ignoring his suggestive offers to 'help' her into it, Sam manages to wriggle her way into the getup without any assistance. Despite how revealing the costume is, she can't help but admit (silently, of course) that she looks good – an opinion that is clearly shared by the Goa'uld watching her.

Baal smiles slightly as she's forced to slide her transmitter into her cleavage, the only possible hiding spot in such a tight outfit – and rests his right hand on the vambrace covering his left forearm. "Wait," Sam interrupts, knowing he's about to activate the Asgard beam that will take them down into the middle of the clones. "How will I know which one is you?"

He just looks at her. "You will know, or you will err." With that, he activates the beam and Sam straightens her spine in determination as they appear amongst the other Baals and their respective Jaffa. Sam's clone is immediately apprehended by at least five others while a great deal more than five Jaffa surround her with their staff weapons leveled and ready to fire.

"What is the meaning of this?" One of the clones demands.

"The meaning of what, exactly?" Baal asks.

"_That_."

Sam suddenly finds herself the focus of several pairs of narrowed brown eyes. Baal snaps his fingers at the Jaffa surrounding her, gesturing for them to stand away. "_Cha hai_, Jaffa. _That_, my dear brothers, is my First Prime."

"That is Colonel Samantha Carter," another clone points out needlessly. "A Tau'ri _female_ cannot be-"

"Come now," Baal says derisively. "Are we the only beings who can be cloned?"

One of the others crosses his arms over his chest. "It's taking an unnecessary risk," he points out. "Tau'ri are no more reliable than are insects, and their females are even worse."

Baal beckons to Sam as she struggles not to respond to the slur. "You sound as if you might actually be afraid of my new pet, Brother, but let me assure you that this one is fully under control. _Cha hai_. Jaffa, _kel ma kree_."

Hoping that whatever he's just said to her has nothing to do with going to make tea for all of them, Sam takes Baal's gesture at face value and walks over to him. Figuring a show of protectiveness won't go amiss, she stands in front of him with her hands on her hips as he continues. "Perhaps you are merely jealous that I was the one who thought of cloning her first."

"Hardly," the other clone snarls back, still looking at Sam in a way that makes her skin crawl – most of them are actually looking at her in the exact same way, but a few others have expressions on their faces that remind her of being stuck in that elevator with her current…companion. Who now insists upon viewing the Chair with his own eyes.

It's small comfort amid the cloned sea of hostility Sam's found herself amongst that the Baal clones, while sharing a certain flair for the dramatic when it comes to wardrobe choices, wouldn't be caught dead in the same outfit. _Just like a group of teenage girls at the prom_, she thinks. Her fingers itch to turn on the jamming device stuffed in her décolletage, reasoning that the _Odyssey_ has had more than enough time to pick up her signal – it won't do at all to get beamed up there without even being given a chance to slap a locator beacon on that damned Chair.

Baal orders her to keep watch at the perimeter with a detachment of other Jaffa, walking off towards the ship without a backward glance. Sam hopes he knows what he's doing, and begins to stroll to the edge of the encampment – she glances over at the Jaffa who refuse to show curiosity about her presence here, but refrains from looking over her shoulder at the clones following her.

Sam crosses her arms over her chest, quickly slipping one hand into the leather bodice to activate the jamming device while pretending to adjust her clothing. _I hope it's the right decision_, she thinks, waiting for the men behind her to say something.

"We should kill it," one of them says conversationally. Leaves crunch beneath four pairs of boots as they come closer to where she's stopped. Out of the corner of her eye, Sam can see them fan out around her and she suppresses a shudder when cold fingertips graze the back of her neck. "Why are you here?" a different clone murmurs in her ear.

"I serve Lord Baal," she says, wondering if they're going to try what she thinks they are.

The fingertips trail across her neck. "And why is that?"

"He is my lord and creator."

"What he is, so are we." The clone steps around in front of her, leaning in to study her face. "Why did that one create you?"

Sam looks back at him, trying not to react as he moves in closer to her. He's a physical carbon copy of her Baal, but this clone couldn't be more different. "Lord Baal has often said that he created me because it was a Jaffa who betrayed his brothers to their deaths," she lies calmly, watching the Baal clone's eyes flare in anger at the reminder; a blade is at her throat before she has time to blink. "My lord wanted a loyal First Prime."

"We have no use for a Tau'ri female in any capacity," the clone says. Another of them says something in Goa'uld that makes the rest laugh, and for once Sam is thankful that she can only understand bits and pieces of the language. Not that she can't guess at what's just been said. "I stand corrected. There seems to be a use for you after all," he smirks.

Sam stares straight ahead, trying to keep the anger from her face as the knife dips to bodice level, lightly scoring the leather. "Perhaps I might make use of you," the clone breathes, his other hand lifting up and hovering just over her left breast. He waits for a reaction, so she forces herself to bow her head submissively… and the Goa'uld immediately drops his hand back to his side as his lip curls in disgust. "I can't think of anything more perverse than lying with a Tau'ri, cloned or otherwise."

It seems to take them hours to walk back to where the other clones are gathered, and Sam sighs in relief as the last one disappears back into the trees. The Jaffa seem a great deal more curious about her now that their masters have gone but, thankfully, none of them actually decide to address her in the language they believe is held in common with her. When her replacement arrives, she delays just long enough to note the pattern in which the others are returning to the small settlement. Unless there's going to be a First Prime convention outside the al'kesh, Sam reasons that she's expected to find her 'lord and master' and ensure that no one attacks him. _Or offers bad fashion tips_, she thinks with a grin.

She scans the crowd of Baals for her clone and, not finding him, takes a deep breath and approaches the ship. The opportunity she's been waiting for has finally arrived; she needs to be quick if there's any chance at placing the transmitter without anyone seeing her do it.

Joining the stream of Jaffa going into the al'kesh seems to be the acceptable way of entering, and Sam is relieved to find her Baal at last as she catches sight of him from the back. She closes her mouth over a blurted greeting when he turns just enough to prove that the clone she was about to approach wasn't, in fact, _hers_. His eyes lock onto her as she tries to come up with an excuse for interrupting him. "Yes? What is it?"

"Lord Baal, my…. Lord Baal wishes to speak with you," is all she can come up with.

Thankfully, it seems to work just fine and he simply lifts his chin in acknowledgement. "Lead me to him, then."

Sam bows her head in the gesture she's seen Teal'c perform countless times over the years and does a sharp about-face, praying that her Baal can be easily found so that it looks like she actually knows where she's going.

Wonder of wonders, the next clone she sees dressed in black leather is him. "My lord, I've brought Lord Baal as requested," she says, hoping he'll play along. Sam also hopes they'll be out of this mess soon – all this "Lord Baal, meet Lord Baal" business is giving her one hell of a headache. Baal gives her a look before turning his attention to the other clone and asking about the security measures in place around the encampment, offering up a snide comment about Sam not being able to tell one clone apart from another.

"She's brought me at least five others; I suppose it's fortunate for her that the novelty hasn't quite worn off as of yet." He shrugs out of his long coat and casually tosses it over the back of the Chair. "The Tau'ri are bound to be frantic over losing their only weapon against us, so we should move quickly while the advantage is firmly on our side. Come look at the placement of this…" Baal glides away purposefully but stops to look back at Sam and click his fingers together irritably, gesturing to his coat. "_Jaffa_."

Sam moves to collect the item, painfully aware of the smirking attention of at least ten clones, and fumbles it so that the coat drops onto the deck. Quickly slipping her fingers down between her breasts as she gathers up Baal's leather coat, Sam withdraws the locator beacon and slides the tiny device down beneath the seat before standing. For the benefit of her audience, Sam casts a glance Baal's way as if nervous about dropping his jacket and hurriedly wipes imaginary motes of dust from it as she rejoins her 'lord.'

Of course he can't miss an opportunity to loudly upbraid her in Goa'uld for her 'clumsiness' so Sam bows her head and pretends to be ashamed while taking great pleasure in imagining him with the black eye he's earned several times over. Confident in the knowledge that the _Odyssey_ will be there to collect them in a short amount of time since she'd also activated her own homing beacon, Sam folds hands behind her back and trails her clone as he continues talking with his doppelganger.

They're outside the al'kesh when the alarms begin to sound.

Baal lets his coat slide from his shoulders once more and hands it to her. "Something to remember me by."

"Why would I need-" the rest of her sentence is cut off as the tingling pull of Asgard beaming technology yanks her from the planet's surface to the bridge of the _Odyssey_, where Stephen Caldwell and the rest of SG-1 await her.

"Nice outfit, Colonel Carter," Caldwell says drily. "Good to see that you didn't forget your coat."

Sam shakes her head as he starts issuing orders to bomb the surface. "We can't do that, Colonel. The Chair's down there in the al'kesh – I put a beacon on it before I activated my own."

"So we'll beam it out, then trash the place," Cam reasons. "It's a win-win."

"Baal's still down there, too."

"Like he said, 'win-win,'" Caldwell says. "Whitting, get a lock on that beacon and let's take back what's ours."

As infuriating as the man is, Sam can't countenance leaving Baal on the planet's surface to die. "Colonel," she warns. "We need to get him back – he has valuable information about interfacing Goa'uld and Ancient technology."

The other man leaves his chair and motions her over to one side. "My hands are tied on this one, Sam. I have my orders, and we have several Goa'uld motherships closing in on us as we speak – whatever sanctuary he was granted, expired when he assaulted that SF and stole his clothes." Caldwell sighs. "I'd like to help you out; you know that. But even if we _could_ risk dropping through the atmosphere with those ships on our tail, there's no way we could distinguish your clone from the others – scans showed that there are more than thirty of them down there."

He turns away and begins to issue orders as one of the airmen reports that they've successfully transported the Chair into one of the cargo holds. "So he's really letting you get the Chair back?" Vala asks. "I thought there was a saying about a large animal changing its stripes. That _is_ a lovely outfit, though."

"Sir," one of the airmen calls nervously, glancing over at Caldwell. "We've got another two motherships that just dropped out of hyperspace, and there seems to be a disturbance on the surface of the planet."

"Onscreen."

At maximum magnification, all they can see is the telltale bursts of color that come from multiple staff blasts; it seems that in lieu of finding the clone responsible for the loss of the Chair, they've resorted to the simple expedient of trying to kill each other.

"One less thing we have to worry about," Cam mutters.

"We're being fired upon," one of the officers announces. The ship rocks as the shields take the impact, and Caldwell gives the order for returning fire.

Their original plan for returning back to Earth immediately after reacquiring the Chair is stopped by another three ha'tak closing in around them, and a proposal to lose their pursuers in the atmosphere of the planet is the only option they seem to have left. "While we're down there, we might as well pick up our runaway," Caldwell says sourly, glancing over at Sam. "No doubt the IOA will want to have a talk with him."

Sam returns his look evenly, masking the relief she feels. "No doubt."

When they actually get close enough to be able to pick Baal out of the crowd of other clones, it becomes painfully apparent that this is a _little_ more involved than a simple 'grab and go.'

"How are we supposed to know which one he is?" Daniel asks, squinting at the monitor in confusion. "They're everywhere!"

Sam rakes a hand through her hair. "He was wearing black leather…"

"That clothing choice seems to be fairly popular," Teal'c observes, narrowing his eyes at the screen.

The ship lurches from another hit, and Caldwell calls for a damage report before turning in his seat. "Anything yet?"

Vala suddenly starts to laugh, pointing. "There he is."

"Where?" Cam asks impatiently. "I don't see… wait, right _there?_"

As various other crewmembers pick up on what Baal's doing to distinguish himself from the crowd, Sam finally spots him. In an effort to make sure he's recognizable among a sea of men who look just like him, Baal's done the only thing he can so that they can tell him apart from clones who are all elegantly dressed – he's removed all of his clothes.

"Well, that's…original," Sam says.

"If that's what you wanna call it," Cam says, rubbing at his eyes. "I need bleach."

Caldwell snorts. "Get a lock on him and get him up here. And for God's sake, somebody get him some clothes."

Baal materializes in the middle of the bridge, locked in combat with another clone whose momentary surprise at finding himself aboard the _Odyssey_ earns him a knife in the chest. Sam automatically steps forward with a handful of others, lifting her weapon only to remember that she doesn't have a P-90 in her hands. "Drop the knife and step back," she cautions.

He kneels to wipe the blade on the dying clone's jacket in a leisurely fashion, glancing up at her. "It's lovely to see you as well, Samantha."

"Not half as lovely as it is to see _you_," Vala remarks, swiping the pad of her thumb over her bottom lip as she takes in the sights. "You must have been working out."

Daniel pinches the bridge of his nose. "Vala."

"He's nowhere near as appetizing a sight as you are, darling," she reassures him.

"Where's that bleach?" Cam wonders.

"Where're those _clothes?_" Sam complains. After Baal decides to play nice and hand over the knife, an SF arrives with a pair of pants that the majority of female officers (and a few of the men) are disappointed to see him put on. Sam's never seen anyone take this long getting dressed, not that she's really complaining. "You're bleeding," she says, nodding to a gash in his side.

"Get him to the infirmary, Colonel," Caldwell advises. "We're going home."

With a complement of airmen following them as an impromptu security detail, Sam escorts the wayward System Lord to get cleaned up. "How'd you know none of the others would get naked, too?"

'There is such a thing as pride. How do you know I am who I am?" Baal asks in return.

Sam smiles. "I don't, which is why those nice men behind us will shoot you if you do anything I don't like."

"There's many things you dislike, Samantha. That statement doesn't really narrow anything down."

"Are all of you such smartasses?"

"Just the ones who go shopping for kilts with human women."

"You're welcome, by the way."

"For…?"

"Me convincing everyone else to save your ass."

"It _is_ a rather nice one, is it not?"

"That's beside the point."

"So you don't deny that you admire it."

"You and your admirable ass are both still under arrest, in case you've forgotten."

Sam waits while Baal is treated for the superficial wounds he doesn't really need treatment for, sending the SFs outside the room after he emerges from the small shower dressed in the all-too-familiar prisoner issue coveralls. "Sexual harassment of a prisoner is bound to be against some obscure Tau'ri law," Baal announces.

"So is aiding and abetting, which you've done a pretty good job of making it look like I did," she replies sourly. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me before you give us all another of your 'surprises?'"

Baal cocks his head and looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Unless you count the fact that the command paths operating the Chair have been altered so that only I can use it, no."

"_What?_"

"Oh, please. Don't tell me you didn't see that coming."

He's not going to see her _hands_ coming until she's finished strangling him. "I can have you put back down on that planet – all I have to do is to say the word."

Baal leans against a bulkhead and crosses his arms. "You need me, Samantha. You need _both_ of us."

"What I _need_ is a drink," Sam sighs as she turns to go. Just before she reaches the door, she's jerked back around by Baal's grip on her arm and his mouth covers hers in a kiss that nearly makes her forget what her own name is. "That's not playing fair," she murmurs, placing her palms flat against his chest.

Baal's eyes gleam with amusement. "I never play fair."

He tilts his head to kiss her again, but Sam puts her fingertips on his lips and pushes him back. "I'm still angry with you."

"Ah, but which me?"

"Both of you." She reaches up to smooth her hand over his head, which seems to have gathered a great deal more hair than when last she'd seen him. Against her better judgment, Sam leans in to brush her lips against his in farewell. "Be good."

"Not if I can help it," he says slyly.

Sam returns to the bridge to find _Odyssey_ maneuvering away from the planet, still under heavy fire. "We've been called back to Earth," Daniel tells her. "Seems there are quite a few motherships appearing in orbit now that our only real defensive weapon is on board with us and out of the equation."

"They've already taken out a handful of satellites, so at least we can keep people from finding out what's really happening," Cam says. "Sam, you sure Baal can't get out of here? The last thing we need is him running around loose. If we can get past the blockade they're setting up around Earth, we've still got to get the Chair back down to Area 51 and find someone to run it."

Teal'c cocks an eyebrow in support of this sentiment, and Sam takes a deep breath before telling them about the modifications to the Chair. Daniel claps his hands to his face, Cam starts to swear, and Vala's scowl nearly matches Teal'c's. "It's not like I could have stopped him with a hundred or so clones running around," Sam says defensively.

"Nobody's blaming you," Daniel says, taking his glasses off and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "We all know what he's like."

Cam _hmmph_s. "I wouldn't exactly say _nobody_ is blaming you – just wait until Woolsey gets a load of this."

"He won't be getting a load of anything if we don't make it back to Earth in time," Vala points out and Teal'c inserts a well-timed "indeed" into the conversation.

The journey back to Earth is spent in tense silence, and Sam purposefully avoids visiting the holding cell where Baal is being kept until the engines slow from hyperdrive. "How much you wanna bet he refuses to help?" Cam asks as they make their way to the mess hall where they've asked Baal's guards to bring him. "I still don't get what you see in that jerk, Sam."

"He has his moments, few and far between as they are."

SG-1 take chairs around the table where Baal is sitting with an untouched plate of meatloaf in front of him. "Look at this; the gang's all here," he says casually. "I suppose you want something from me."

"What did you do to the Chair?" Vala asks.

Cam leans across the table. "We need you to fix it."

Baal does some leaning of his own on the table. "It hasn't been broken."

"It was not yours to alter," Teal'c speaks up.

"Nine tenths of the law, Teal'c. But if you'd truly like to get technical, that Chair belongs to the Ancients and not the Tau'ri who subsequently found it… so it isn't _theirs_, either. I happen to be the only being with the strongest ATA Gene, so that puts me on more of a par with the original owners – thus, I'm the best qualified to own as well as operate it," Baal says, sweeping his gaze along the table at the rest of them. "Ask me nicely, and I might be persuaded to help you with your latest difficulty."

Daniel pushes his glasses up with a finger. "And what would you know about that?"

"If I were him-"

"You are," Cam interrupts.

Baal gives the other man a look. "As I was saying; if I were him, I would attack Earth the moment I knew the Tau'ri had lost their most valuable defensive weapon. Obviously this has happened, and you now need me to operate the Chair. Is this an accurate assessment of the situation?"

Cam coughs. "Well… yes."

"I'll think about it," Baal promises. "While I'm thinking about it, you might like to think of what you can offer me in exchange for my invaluable assistance."

"We can't make any deals," Sam tells him with a glare. "Think fast before we decide to put you back on the surface of that planet – we can still turn around."

Baal drums his fingers on the table. "Threats being the aphrodisiac they are, I'm not sure how I can resist… but somehow, I'm managing the very thing."

Sam smiles. "You'll help us."

"You sound so certain of that."

"You won't be System Lord of diddly if you don't help out, so cut the crap. We'll come get you when it's time to take the Chair back to Area 51." She can feel his eyes on her back as she walks back out the door and waits outside for Cam to come ask what's gotten into her.

Sure enough, he's there in about fifteen seconds. "You really think that's going to work, Sam?" he asks doubtfully, scratching behind one ear.

"It'll work," Sam reassures him. "The size of his ego practically guarantees it."

"Practically? You've seen the guy operate a drone that could fit in my shirt pocket, but what about the Chair? We're screwed if he can't do it."

Sam considers this. While it's true that she's only witnessed Baal control the palm-sized drone, she doesn't think he'd say he could run the Chair if he couldn't. _That ego problem of his is going to get him into serious trouble one of these days_. "He can do it."

"He'd better," Cam says darkly.

They make the jump into Earth's solar system with all the proximity alarms shrieking, and Caldwell starts shouting orders for the the F-302's in the bay to begin launching. Sam counts no less than five ha'tak with numerous al'kesh and gliders as their entourage. _Odyssey_'s sister ships have joined the fray, and it's a confusing jumble of ships, half-jammed transmissions, and rail-gun fire to sort through in the first few minutes. "Good luck, SG-1," Caldwell says before turning back to the weapons officer.

"Well now; this is going to be fun," Vala remarks breathlessly as they all jog towards the cargo hold containing the Chair.

Daniel just shakes his head. "You really need a hobby."

Baal's leaning on the back of the Chair looking bored as they arrive, and Sam flashes him a smile that's returned by an irritated glare and a snide comment about how long it had taken SG-1 to get there. She sighs as she keys the intercom to ask for transport, and all six of them are beamed down to Area 51.

Cam, Teal'c, and Vala guard them as they materialize in what's jokingly known as the Throne Room and begin to reattach the Chair to its base and power supply. Marines are stationed all around the room and outside in the hall, and Sam can hear the sound of gunfire and staff blasts from a few feet away. "Are you done yet?" she has to yell over the noise at Daniel, who has a look on his face that she doesn't like.

The archaeologist turns stricken eyes to her. "The drones are gone."

_Shit_.

Baal looks up from where he's sliding one of the ZPMs back after checking it. "And _where_, exactly, are they?"

"We are so screwed," Daniel blurts in disbelief, rocking back onto his heels.

"My clothes," Baal says suddenly. "Where are they?"

Vala's head whips around at hearing this. "And people say _I'm_ frivolous!"

"This isn't the time-"

"Get my clothes back – all of them," Baal says, looking at Sam intently. "I can get what we need."

Sending a transmission back up to the _Odyssey_ and weathering the outraged response to the demand, they wait in tense silence until Baal's outfit arrives in an unceremonious heap of black leather. "How close are they?" Sam asks Teal'c, glancing out the door in the direction of the battle. From the corner of her eye she can see Baal rifling through his things and fitting something together.

"We shall keep them from this room, Samantha Carter," Teal'c says calmly.

She squeezes her friend's shoulder in appreciation and gives him a quick smile before turning back to find Baal crouching amid the shreds of his clothing and sliding a ribbon device on his right hand. "Doesn't that go on your other hand?"

"Not this one." Baal taps a metal-covered finger against something in his lap and she sees another ribbon device draped over his thigh. "Move away from the platform."

He settles into the Chair as her eyes narrow in suspicion. "I thought you said that only the Host can use the Ancient gene."

The Chair flares to life and Baal only spares her the slightest of amused glances before turning his attention to the illuminated map of the solar system that hovers just above his head. "Did I say that?" he asks in the symbiote's multi-tonal voice.

Unbelievable, Sam thinks to herself as the stones centered in both of his palms begin to glow – one is the amber of traditional Goa'uld hand devices, and the other is luminescent with blue light. "What exactly are you doing?"

The map overhead changes to a map with which they're all very familiar, with several points highlighted. Without taking his eyes from it, Baal smiles slowly. "There are several worlds with the resources that I need, and one thing that connects them."

"You're bringing live drones through the Gate system," Vala says incredulously.

"It really does take a village to raise an idiot," Baal muses to no one in particular. "_Very_ good, Qetesh."

"Vala."

"Whomever."

"Maybe we should put both of them in 'time out,'" Daniel murmurs to Sam.

Struck with a sudden realization, she whirls to look at Cam. "Someone needs to warn the SGC that they're about to have company – is that phone operational?" she asks, nodding towards the communications console in the hall.

"Too late for that," Cam says, pointing to the Chair.

Baal's eyes are closed, both hands barely touching the armrests – above him is a projected image of the battle taking place, and they watch as a glowing line of drones streak from Earth's atmosphere to swarm around the Goa'uld ships. Sam's relieved to see that the _Odyssey_ hasn't taken any major damage, and the 302s take out any stragglers as the remaining al'kesh and ha'tak break off in an attempt to escape.

They're all so preoccupied with watching what's happening above the Earth's surface that they fail to notice that the gunfire has stopped. While Sam's pretty sure that Teal'c has been paying attention the entire time, it's Daniel who remarks on the silence first. "He really did it."

"I'm so very glad that you never doubted me," Baal says acidly, opening his eyes. The Chair's lights fade as he sits up, rolling his shoulders to relieve a cramp. "You're all welcome, by the way."

Sam gazes over at Earth's least likely savior. "We've saved the planet a hell of a lot more times than you."

"Most of the time we were actually saving it _from_ you," Daniel contributes.

Vala shrugs. "They don't actually hand out a medal for it."

"Indeed."

Cam points at Teal'c. "What he said."

Baal frowns. "Then why do you even bother?"

"System Lord of diddly, remember?" Sam prompts. "Come on, we need to get back to the SGC to be debriefed." When Baal smirks and opens his mouth to say something about 'debriefing,' she holds up a restraining hand. "Not. One. Word."

He gives her one of his 'innocent' looks that will never quite mesh with what she (and everyone else) knows about him, and pushes himself up from the Chair. The rest of SG-1 wanders out to survey the damage done to the facility before the Jaffa were transported out, but Sam waits for Baal to make his way over to her. Despite the fact that he's saved Earth, she knows this is far from over – the IOA won't let it be over, and then there's the fact that there are several more clones running around loose in the galaxy. "They're going to try to arrest me if I come back with you," he says, stopping in front of her.

"It's a pretty real possibility, yes," Sam admits.

Baal reaches out a hand and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "It was fun. He thinks so, too."

His eyes glow like molten gold as he looks at her, and she moistens her lips with her tongue unconsciously. "You still have your gauntlets."

"And?"

"And if you let me study that ribbon device, I could pretend not to notice that you've beamed away until it's too late," she bargains. "Though you _do_ look very handsome in gray."

He scratches his goatee thoughtfully, which makes her realize that it's nearly grown back to how it was before he'd shaved. "I'm not sure it's really my color."

"Let's go," Cam bellows.

"Tau'ri first," Baal says, sweeping his arm towards the door.

Sam begins to turn when she hears the sound of an Asgard beam – whirling back, she's just in time to catch the object Baal tosses to her just before he beams out. "Damn it."

"_Damn_ it," Cam echoes as he runs back into the room. "Landry wanted us to bring him in. He tell you where he's headed?"

Sam curls her fingers around the key Baal just gave her surreptitiously slips it into her pocket. "Your guess is as good as mine."

No, it wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

_fin_

________________________________________

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End file.
